The Forgotten
by ElusiveSoul
Summary: Have you ever wondered what's it like to be an Auror? What mysteries would you be entitled to solve? Clarisse had always wanted to dedicate her life to finding the answers to those questions. Over the years, she got used to all kinds of horrors, but when a series of murders starts to happen, she faces yet another question: how can you explain the unexplainable? * HP UNIVERSE STORY
1. Chapter 1: The Murder

The day was incredibly beautiful. The sun shone bright, casting its rays through the windows of every single building on the street. The birds chirped, as if they wanted to announce that spring was finally here. To everyone else, it probably seemed wonderful, exciting even, considering all the new possibilities it brought - going for long walks, lying on the grass in full sun or simply hanging out with friends outside. To Clarisse, though, spring meant troubles.

Winter was much more peaceful and quiet. Not in a sense, that the streets were empty. No, Paris qualified as a very busy city, as everyone from around the world wanted to see the famous Eiffel tower or _les Champs-Élysées_. The city was simply breathtaking. Even Clarisse, who did not usually possess the tenderness required to be entranced with such things as landscapes and architecture, had to admit that.

Winter usually made people less inclined to do stupid things, such as thinking it would be quite hilarious to turn one's neighbour's cat into a teacup. Okay, so maybe that one was a little funny, especially since it was a rather poor example of Transfiguration, because the teacup meowed every single time someone had poured liquid into it. But when the cat died, the case stopped being a simple usage of magic in Muggle neighbourhood and instead, got qualified as an accidental murder, making things much more serious.

Spring was quite extreme when it came to crimes, not only those seemingly easy and not all that serious. Something about the whole world of nature coming to life made the murderers and serial killers even more determined to turn everyone miserable. Miserable and dead, in many cases.

As soon as Clarisse opened her eyes and noticed that the grim aura of winter had disappeared, seemingly for good this time, she knew that the chances of her day becoming very unpleasant expanded rapidly and that thought instantly worsened her mood.

Reluctantly, she got out of bed and stretched her arms above her head, sighing with pleasure when a couple of cracks sounded in the air and her spine started to feel flexible again, just like every other morning. She enjoyed working as an Auror, especially as a part of the Special Assignments Team, that required not only immaculate detective skills, but also a lot of physical fitness. Unfortunately, it had its cost.

Shower turned out to be more than helpful, as the cold water managed to awake her body completely, clearing her mind from all the negative thoughts. Constant fussiness couldn't have helped her, after all, as she needed utter focus to do her job correctly.

Clarisse wrapped her body in a towel and sighed, standing in front of a mirror. A young woman looked back at her with a crooked smile that made her face seem much uglier than it truly was.

"Today's going to be a good day, Riss," she said to herself, trying to sound confident, but her efforts turned out to be futile, as the voice coming out of her mouth resembled someone who was about to get sick, rather than someone believing their own words.

As on cue, a silvery mist appeared in her bathroom, taking a shape of a horse that glowed with a beautiful light. Clarisse closed her eyes in irritation and waited for the figure to speak.

"Auror Bouchard, you're needed at the crime scene."

The voice of her boss sounded in the air, making her mood even worse.

"Cathédrale Notre-Dame."

Clarisse opened her eyes instantly and looked at the slowly disappearing form of the Patronus. Was her hearing maiming her? Did her boss really want her at the crime scene located in front of the most famous church in the entire city?

"Bloody hell..." she muttered and leaned against the sink, biting her lip.

She jinxed it. Maybe if her thoughts weren't so grim and full of negativity, she wouldn't get summoned to a crime bound to be almost impossible to solve. After all, if someone had committed a murder in front of such a famous building, he had to be good. Good or excellent even.

Clarisse pushed herself away from the sink and grabbed her wand, casting a few drying spells. She had no time to dwell on such things, as with every second the magical trace on the crime scene deteriorated, making it even harder to find someone responsible. She had to hurry.

"Auror Bouchard, thank you for your immediate arrival," her boss, Ludovic Deschamps, greeted her with a tight smile that had nothing to do with happiness.

She could tell by the tension of his jaw muscles that the situation was serious and that made her insides clench with anger.

"Auror Deschamps," she greeted him as well and looked around.

She spotted several people from the Magical Forensic Department, all dressed up as Muggles not to raise any suspicions. The entire place in front of the Cathedral was separated from the crowd that gathered around, trying to get as many information as possible to satisfy their curiosity. Muggle police tried to keep them at bay and did a pretty good job at it, Clarisse had to admit.

She was surprised at the size of the secluded area, as it was unusually large. She couldn't spot any signs of struggle or duelling, which usually required expanded perimeter of a crime scene. Actually, she wasn't able to spot _anything_ out of order, beside that one lifeless body lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

 _This is not good_ , she thought to herself, as she noticed the crimson liquid framing the body in a grotesque way. Usually, magical crimes didn't involve such amounts of blood, as it was hardly the most effective way to kill someone, Muggle or Wizard. It required time for someone to bleed out and in a such place like this one time probably wasn't something the murderer had. Or at least he shouldn't have had.

"Do we know who the victim is?" she asked and moved closer to the body.

The body definitely belonged to a female, quite a pretty one at that. She probably caught the attention of many men, while she was still alive. Her body didn't seem mutilated though, despite the pool of blood surrounding her frame.

Clarisse crouched down next to her, narrowing her eyes in search for any wounds that may have been the cause of the extensive bleeding, and as a result, of her death.

"No. Apparently, a Muggle priest found her and went into such a great shock, that he stopped talking for three hours. We had to summon a Mediwitch to help him come around, but when we had finally managed to get a statement out of him, he claimed not to know the victim," Ludovic informed her with a scowl and Clarisse looked up at him with surprise.

"Are you trying to tell me that it took us three hours to get here?"

'"Muggle police thought this was a normal crime. They didn't think it was something for the Special Crimes Investigation Bureau."

Clarisse rolled her eyes at the full name of their cover office. It wasn't like they could outright tell anyone about the existence of Wizards and magic. It made things quite complicated, as everyone in the Auror Bureau had to be excellent at posing as Muggles to fool anyone arriving at the crime scenes before them. SCIB's sole purpose was to make everything easier, as the President of France himself stood behind their organisation, in order to maintain their secret and allow magical folks to work in peace. Nonetheless, Clarisse considered it to be truly ridiculous, as no one could specify what exactly made crimes 'special'. Every time they appeared at the scene, policemen started to twitch nervously and exchange scared glances - 'special' usually meant extremely dangerous in their line of business.

"Are you sure that this is not something for them rather than us?" she asked, focusing on the body once again.

Even spotting the wounds turned out be difficult, they were so tiny and clean. From the looks of it, the killer had to use a knife rather than a wand, because of the cuts' precision. Carotid arteries were severed on both sides, explaining the blood loss perfectly. Still, there were much better ways to kill someone. Ones that didn't require usage of Muggle weapons.

"Oh, we're sure. The Forensics say that the knife must have been a magical artefact, as those wounds are basically drowned in magic," her boss crouched down beside her and pointed his finger at one of the wounds. "The cuts are extremely neat and deep, which must have required quite some strength or a very, very sharp knife. I'd say our suspect is a male, though."

Clarissa nodded lightly and dropped to her knees, looking at the wounds from an even closer distance.

"What about those marks?" she asked and pointed to the slightly darker skin surrounding the wounds.

Her boss frowned slightly, but didn't answer. Clearly, Forensics must have missed it.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like those. They don't look like burn marks, but the skin is definitely darker here. Greyish even," she noticed and Deschamps agreed with her quietly.

Clarisse looked at the other wound and spotted the exact same discolouration. What the hell was that?

"Maybe it's just dirt?" her boss asked, but didn't sound sure of himself.

Clarisse took out her rubber gloves that all of the Muggles seemed to wear while examining the bodies, probably in order to prevent disrupting evidence and maybe inquiring some kind of disease.

She put her finger next to the wound and tried to rub the mark off, but it didn't budge.

"Definitely not dirt. You should call the Forensics. I still don't know how they have managed to miss this," she muttered, making Ludovic laugh.

"Dead people excite them, no matter how disgusting it seems. Sometimes they forget about doing their job just because of that," he said and then stood up, waving at one of the wizards to come closer.

Clarisse knew that particular man, as he tried to ask her out on several occasions. Her constant refusals didn't seem to bug him at all and he kept renewing his offers. His name was Harold, if she recalled correctly.

"Hello, Clarie," he greeted her, making her boss snort in amusement.

Everyone knew she hated being called 'Clarie'. She wasn't a little girl anymore and it should have been clear, especially to a man who apparently wanted to date her.

She didn't bother to answer him, as she nodded her head not even looking away from the body. Encouraging him in any way was probably the worst thing to do.

"What can you tell us about those marks?" Ludovic asked in a stern tone, making Harold shift with nervousness.

Clarisse's boss tended to be strict and extremely intolerant when it came to not doing one's job correctly, which was probably why he liked working with her so often. She was the epitome of a hard worker, after all.

"What marks?" Harold asked, clearly dumbfounded and Clarisse sighed.

"Those marks that surround the wounds, you idiot," she stated and gestured him to see for himself.

The man dropped to his knees, blush covering his cheeks as a result of her comment.

"I'm sorry, I-I have no idea how we missed that," he stuttered and took his wand out of the jacket.

Of course, the wand had been Disillusioned, as not to raise suspicions of Muggle policemen or the crowd that surrounded the entire crime scene. Harold muttered an incantation and then surprise appeared on his face.

'"What is it, boy?" Ludovic rumbled, making Harold smile nervously.

The Forensic Expert cast the spell once again and Clarisse fought the urge to roll her eyes. She absolutely hated working with those people. Their department should have been called 'Magical Morons Association' rather than anything else, at least in her opinion.

"Funny thing, sir. It seems that this substance is nothing else, but saliva."

Clarisse raised her eyebrows in amusement, watching her boss intently. Deschamps wasn't exactly happy with Harold's assessment of the situation, as his cheeks grew red and lips turned into a narrow line.

"Saliva..." he repeated after the Forensic and clicked his tongue. "Do you think I'm dumb?"

"No... Sir?"

'"Are you asking me, or answering?"

'"I... Answering, of course," Harold said and paled even more, making Clarisse grin inappropriately.

"Then why would you say something so utterly ridiculous? Don't you think we know what saliva looks like?! It's certainly not grey, is it?"

Harold waved his wand once again, muttering the spell and rubbed his temples nervously.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir, but the spell doesn't lie."

Clarisse frowned when she realised that Harold truly believed in his words. Well, he couldn't have been _that_ incompetent, could he? After all, they were all trained to cast those spells properly even in their sleep. He wouldn't have botched it three times in a row.

"How is that possible?" she asked, crossing her arms on her chest.

Her mind felt completely blank, when it came to finding an answer to her question. She had never seen something quite like it, nor had she heard of it. Judging from her boss' expression, he seemed to share her thoughts on that matter, which made her feel extremely tense.

"We'll have to run further tests, back at the Ministry. It might be some kind of a disease that made it look that way. Right now, I'm as clueless as you are," Harold said and smiled apologetically.

Clarisse couldn't help but smirk, seeing that his eyes started to glint with excitement. Those people and their quirks...

"Fine. Did you find anything on her?," Ludovic asked and received a negative answer right away.

"Nothing. We don't even know if she was magical."

"Summon us as soon as you'll have some information," her boss said and gestured her to get up.

Clarisse did just that and looked around once again.

"We should probably talk to the priest," she muttered, trying to locate the man.

"You'll do fine without me. I have something to take care of, at the Ministry," he frowned in response and looked at his watch with irritation. "Wrap up the crime scene and then come find me."

With that, he turned around and left her alone. He rarely did that, especially in crimes so complicated and weird. It seemed unusual, to say the least, but she wasn't one to complain.

"Harold, where can I find the priest?," she asked the man and a minute later, the thoughts of her boss' weird actions were long forgotten, as she sunk into the world of investigation.

* * *

 **Hello everyone!**

 **First of all, thank you for reading! If you've reached those A/N, that means you've read the entire chapter and that fact alone makes me incredibly happy!**

 **Second of all, this story is going to be something I haven't tried before. Obviously, it is set in the HP Universum, but most of the characters are going to be mine. The figures created by J.K. Rowling are going to be there, somewhere, sometime and I take no credit for them, as they belong fully to that wonderful lady I've mentioned, just like this entire universe.**

 **Having said all that, I hope you found that beginning interesting enough to keep on reading! I cannot promise to update this story very often, but I will do my best! :)**

 **Once again, thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Team

"So, how was the crime scene?" Jacques asked with a grin on his face, that made her roll her eyes.

She couldn't blame him for being excited, as he had been chained to this desk for quite some time now. Ever since the incident with the fireworks that exploded right into his face, leaving him with terrible burns, damaged eyesight and hearing, he had to stick to paper work, as Deschamps wanted to be sure her friend would be fully recovered before he allowed him to get back to field work.

She missed having him as her partner. Even someone so mean and impassive as herself couldn't dislike Jacques, as he continued to infect her with positive energy, which turned out extremely helpful when it came to doing their job.

"Weird, to be honest. We have no idea who the victim is, nor have we any suspects. The cause of death was incredibly uncommon, though..." she said with a frown, while Jacques shifted excitedly.

'"What was it?"

"Two cuts on the neck, deep and narrow. There was a lot of blood at the scene. Those freaks from downstairs were so excited that they've almost missed those strange marks around the wounds," Clarisse explained and sighed. "Harold claimed that it was dried _saliva_ , although I don't know how is that even possible. Whatever it was, it was grey."

"Well, was it human at least?" Jacques asked and frowned. "And who the hell is Harold?"

Clarisse looked at him with amusement and shrugged.

"We're waiting for the test results. And Harold is that guy from Forensics that keeps asking me out."

"Riss, his name is Herbert," Jacques informed her with a huge grin, making her very confused.

"Is it now? Then why would he react to Harold?"

'"Because he fancies you..." her friend rolled his eyes and shook his head with disbelief. "You should treat people better, my friend."

That was probably correct. People didn't deserve having their names messed up by her, simply because Clarisse was too busy to care. She found, though, that her weird system of acquiring new friends worked quite well, at least for her. All of the people who weren't persistent enough to break through those thick walls of indifference that she built around herself clearly weren't worth her efforts.

"Yes, I've heard that one before," she agreed eagerly and looked up towards the ceiling.

One of the coolest things about their office was the enchanted ceiling. She generally disliked foreigners in the department, but that one guy who finished Hogwarts turned out to be quite brilliant. He came up with the idea of enchanting every room's ceiling to look exactly like the one in 'Great Hall', which, apparently, was a place where every student dined during their stay at school. It took a lot of work, but at least everyone could enjoy staring at the sky, while being chained to their desks. Not that it happened all that often to someone like Clarisse.

"What's taking him so long?" she muttered to herself, thinking about her boss.

In response, Jacques sighed in irritation.

"Riss, our boss is a busy man. I told you that he's having an important visit. I don't know what's it all about, but those men that arrived at our department this morning looked very... Well, very British"

Clarisse snorted with amusement. What did it even mean? How could someone _look_ British?

"Did they come here wearing only British flags?" she asked with irony and earned herself a glare.

"Not really, no. But they did wear a look full of superiority," Jacques explained proudly, making her chuckle out loud.

"Wow, now I'm convinced," she laughed and awaited a snarky comment form her friend, which never came.

A familiar Patronus interrupted their conversation, as once again, she got summoned by her boss.

"Finally!" she exclaimed and jumped out of her chair, smiling with satisfaction. "I guess I'll see you later."

With that, she waved Jacques goodbye and exited their office, following the Patronus, which clearly got the assignment to lead her straight to her boss, wherever that might have been. Clarisse didn't care all that much, but when they've passed his bureau, a frown appeared on her face.

The Patronus led her to the biggest conference room her department owned, which did nothing to diminish her curiosity. Without hesitation, she knocked on the door and entered the room, not waiting for response. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Clarisse looked around, carefully taking in the sight of five man sitting around the wooden, mahogany table. Two of them she recognized without a problem, as it happened to be her boss and one of her colleagues, Antoine Fabré, a brilliant Auror who served as one of her mentors during the Auror training.

The other three she had never seen before. The one sitting the closest to her was also the youngest, as she judged from his looks. He had brown, short hair, that tended to curl at their ends and dark eyes - maybe brown or grey, she couldn't tell from such a distance. His face didn't express any emotions, but that didn't surprise her. Most of the Aurors possessed the abilities to hide their feelings and every person in this room undoubtedly shared the same profession.

The other stranger sitting to his left was older and much more experienced in the field; numerous scars covering his face testified to that. He looked much more pleasant though, as a smile graced his lips, making his blue eyes twinkle lightly.

The last person made her insides twist with excitement. She hadn't known the man personally, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who he was - Harry Potter sat at the same table that she was clearly invited to join, judging by her boss' summon. He didn't look spectacular, which was probably the reason why she didn't recognize him right away, but the scar visible on his forehead left no doubts as to his identity.

Clarisse never excelled at following society rules, but it seemed clear that staring at strangers, no matter how famous they were, wasn't particularly civil, so she averted her gaze to her boss and said:

"Auror Deschamps, you wanted to see me."

"Auror Bouchard, please take a sit."

After seeing Potter, it didn't surprise her that her boss switched to English, as it was highly unlikely that any of the strangers would be able to speak French. Nonetheless, hearing her boss speaking a foreign language made her feel weird, to say the least.

She decided not to dwell on it though and moved forward in order to take a seat opposite of the youngest visitor. After she made herself comfortable, she looked across the table and smirked slightly at the man watching her cautiously. His eyes were definitely brown and not grey like she initially suspected.

"Gentlemen, this is Auror Clarisse Bouchard. I believe I've told you enough about her already," her boss' words made everyone nod at her in a brief greeting and she felt complied to reciprocate their gesture. 'Bouchard, this is Auror Potter', he gestured towards the one man that she recognised.

Potter smiled at her and Clarisse had to admit that he didn't seem all that intimidating, as she would expect from the saviour of the wizarding world.

"This is Auror Ashworth."

This time the scarred man raised his hand in a greeting, smile still visible on his face, only this time it widened slightly.

"And last, but not least, Auror Finley."

The youngest man definitely didn't seem as amiable as the others. He only inclined his head, not tearing his gaze away from her face. Clarisse had a strong feeling that he tried his best to make her uncomfortable, which only proved that he didn't know a single thing about her; she really wasn't the one to get scared away by a mere look.

"Pleasure to meet you all, gentlemen," she stated firmly, smiling airily.

"Likewise, Auror Bouchard," Potter answered, filling the room with a melodic, British accent, that made her body tingle with excitement.

She always had a thing for that particular language, especially if it sounded so beautifully. Clarisse didn't even mind that her last name sounded a bit funny in his mouth. French had to be difficult to foreigners, now that she thought of that.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked, focusing on her boss again.

She watched as the man stood up slowly and cleared his throat, readying himself to speak.

"Before I explain everything to you... What did you find at the scene after my departure?"

Clarisse raised her brows and skimmed her gaze over everyone at the other side of the table. Her boss provided her with a perfect answer as to why she found herself in the room filled with Englishmen, without even trying to do so. Apparently, their visit to the French Ministry of Magic had something to do with the recent murder. But why would they be interested in that particular case?

'Not much, to be honest. The priest spent most of our talk praying for the soul of the deceased woman. I got a feeling that he tried to deflect our suspicions from him, as he was fully aware of being the closest thing we had to a witness. He arrived at the _Notre Dame_ at dawn, just like he always did, but before he had entered the church, he spotted our unfortunate victim. He checked her vitals, called the ambulance and the police right away," she sighed and looked up towards the ceiling. "Like I said, he wasn't very helpful. There were no signs of struggle, murder weapon hadn't been found and we still don't have any leads."

Even without looking at the men sitting at the table, she could tell they weren't impressed with her detective work. She wasn't impressed by it as well, but this case proved to be even more difficult than she initially made it out to be. Not even someone with a natural gift for spotting things hidden from the eyes of many others, could solve every single crime. Especially not the crime so mysterious and well-executed.

"Tell us about the wounds," Ashworth spoke, clearly meaning for her to continue her speech.

Clarisse looked at him with a slight surprise, but decided to indulge him and said:

"The victim suffered from two cuts to her neck - narrow, but deep enough to sever the arteries, causing her to bleed out at a rapid pace. Our Forensics Department claims, that those wounds had been inflicted using a magical artefact of some kind, as traces of magic were found inside of them. It was a very neat work, if you're asking me," she stated and furrowed her brows, when the image of those weird marks popped into her head.

Clarisse wasn't sure if bringing this up was a good idea, since they possessed no answers as to what those marks meant and frankly speaking, telling those foreign Aurors that their Forensics claimed that they were made of _saliva_ didn't sit with her well.

'What about the marks?" Auror Finley spoke for the first time and she switched her gaze to him immediately.

His voice seemed harsh, hostile even, which felt quite surprising considering the fact that he didn't know her. Despite her thoughts, she smiled airily and said:

"Since you're aware of their existence, you probably already know everything I can tell you," she said and watched as a smirk appeared on his face. "Our people are examining them as we speak, but their first opinion was rather... Interesting."

She switched her gaze towards her boss, who nodded at her lightly, urging her to continue. Apparently, he no longer believed this whole thing to be ridiculous. _Very interesting_ , she thought to herself and smirked.

"Apparently, those greyish marks are made out of _saliva_."

Englishmen exchanged glances, but they didn't seem amused. If she had to describe their expressions, she'd say that they became even more serious.

"This is not good news," Potter muttered and sighed, while Ashworth nodded grimly.

"Not good news at all."

Clarisse furrowed her brows and bit the insides of her cheek, a very painful habit of hers that occurred only when she was stressed. Something about the tone of Potter's comment made her incredibly disturbed and she didn't like that feeling in the slightest.

"Clarisse..." her boss addressed her by her name, something he did very rarely. "I'm afraid that this murder will be just the beginning of a series of crimes."

She couldn't say she was surprised. After all, the murder didn't look personal. Usually, those kind of crimes were committed in haste, in passion. This one, however... This one was executed in cold blood, despite the obvious narrow frame of time available. It certainly looked like something that a serial killer might have done. But how did the murderer manage to make his _first_ crime so perfect?

"I figured," she muttered and met Finley's gaze, who looked at her with a frown. "But that doesn't explain why they are here."

Her boss cleared his throat once again and said:

"It does, in a way. They are here, because those murders had been happening for quite a while now. Only, they've been happening in Great Britain."

Clarisse had to fight the urge to smirk, as the realisation dawned on her. Ah, so that was the reason for Mr Finley's hostility. He wasn't able to catch the murderer on his own territory and now the culprit had fled the country.

She knew though, that saying anything out loud would be considered quite inappropriate and she doubted her boss would approve her behaviour. The woman bit her tongue and tilted her head, waiting for Deschamps to continue.

"What is even more disturbing, is that the most recent murder occurred today."

Okay, so she wasn't expecting to hear _that_. Even with the ability to Apparate on the spot, it wasn't a common practice to just disappear out of the country after committing a murder. Not even criminals wanted to leave their homeland, believing their skills to be sufficient to let them walk undiscovered.

"Well, that probably wouldn't be the first case, when the murderer fled the scene of the murder, even if it is tad uncommon for the criminals to leave the entire country afterwards," she shrugged, watching for everyone's reactions.

Potter was smiling, like he knew something that she clearly didn't, Ashworth looked quite amused, while Finley continued to frown at her. What was his deal? He wasn't so hostile towards her boss, was he?

"True. But it would be even more unusual for the culprit to be in two places at the same time, wouldn't it?" Ashworth asked and quirked his eyebrow at her.

"Is that what happened?'' she said with a dose of uncertainty in her voice, making Ashworth laugh.

"Yes, Auror Bouchard. It would certainly seem so," he nodded after a second and looked towards her boss, who opened his mouth to speak.

"Forensics don't have much, but they estimate the time of death between 4 a.m. and 5 a.m."

"Which is the exact time frame for our murder," Potter added and Clarisse sighed.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a coincidence. Not that she hoped for that anyway - apart from the rarity of culprits leaving the country, the fact that not many people, in their right mind or not, could have executed two perfect murders on such short notice happened to be pretty undeniable.

"Huh... That's not very good news indeed," she muttered and earned herself a snort from Auror Finley.

"What a brilliant observation! Do you have more of those up your sleeve?"

Clarisse didn't even flinch at his comment, deciding that her fiery temper could be relieved later, in the training hall, rather than on a meeting like this one. She might have been rude, mean and generally uncaring, but she definitely wasn't _stupid_ , which clearly separated her from Auror Finley.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she stated dryly and averted her gaze.

What a prick, that one. She really hoped that this whole serial killer thing wouldn't turn out to be an international case, because Clarisse highly doubted that she was capable of tolerating Mr Finley on everyday basis.

"Clarisse..." her boss reprimanded her, forcing her to roll her eyes. "There are much more important things right now. The British Ministry was unable to locate or even identify the culprit, as there was no evidence left behind and the victims weren't connected in any way. Catching the killer should be of uttermost importance."

Of course it bloody should. He didn't have to remind her of that, she wasn't the one acting like a spoilt brat, was she?

"What are you proposing, then?" Clarisse asked despite her anger and watched everyone exchange knowing glances.

Great. Apparently her worst nightmare was about to come true, since all of the men had clearly reached a decision before she had even arrived at the conference room.

"I believe it would be best, if we formed an international team, which goal would be purely to catch the person responsible for all of this," her boss stated and Potter nodded his head with a smile.

"I agree. It's clear that the way we work in our Ministry proved itself to be insufficient. Maybe a different perspective would be in order, especially considering the sudden arrival of our murderer in your country," the War Hero said in a friendly matter, that did nothing to lighten up her mood.

She fully realised that the man was right. It wasn't shameful to ask for help, not in their line of business. Innocent people were dying and this had to be stopped, no matter what. That fact didn't make her urge to moan in despair any lesser, though.

"We would like to form the team consisting of everyone in this room," Ashworth said and smiled at her. "We've been told that you and Auror Fabré are the best people that the French Ministry can offer."

Finding herself amongst the best of the best was surely a huge compliment, but in this case, it didn't make her exactly happy. Everyone knew she didn't pass as very sociable and working with complete strangers didn't sound appealing. Not to her, anyway.

"I'm honoured, sir," she said, despite her thoughts and smiled at her boss. She then switched to Fabre, who was unusually quiet, but reciprocated her gesture nonetheless.

"You should be, Clarisse. It's a huge opportunity for you and I will be very disappointed if you decide to waste it."

It was a good thing then that she would never decide to do something so stupid. _Not willingly anyway_ , she thought to herself, locking gaze with Finley once again. If anyone was less happy about their newly found team, that bloke would definitely win the competition without any doubts.

* * *

Another chapter, just so you can understand the setting a bit better! :) It definitely was fun to write, so I hope it shows just fine.

Let me know what you think :) Do you like Clarisse so far? What do you think will come out of this international cooperation? :)

I'd love to know!


	3. Chapter 3: The Visit

Clarisse hated Great Britain. She couldn't say that this feeling had been personal, not to the least. She had nothing against its people, nothing against the language and definitely nothing against its history. What she absolutely couldn't stand was the weather.

How could anyone survive in that gloomy, sun-deprived world of never-ending puddles? She had been here for nearly an entire week and already felt almost suicidal. Her hair looked appalling, making her resemble a wet poodle, while her figure seemed terribly disfigured by the necessity of wearing her yellow, vast raincoat. What was even more terrifying than that, was the fact that no one seemed to be bothered by her clothing.

What was wrong with that country? Clarisse didn't seem to be able to find the answer to that particular question and it made her even more miserable; she absolutely hated not knowing something, even if it happened to be so meaningless. She had been fully aware, though, that there were questions better left unanswered.

"Stop whining," Fabré's voice reached her ears, which felt really surprising considering all that noise made by the falling raindrops.

"Whining? I've been quiet for at least an eternity now," she snorted and rolled her eyes at his unamused expression.

"Your thoughts are particularly loud today," the man answered in a tone full of much appreciated irony.

Her temporary partner's sarcasm was what kept her sane these days, since the Englishmen she had met up to this point could be described as _incredibly stiff._ Or proper, as they liked to call themselves. Apparently all the fun people of Britain moved elsewhere, just to spite her.

"So is the rain."

"Clarisse, for fuck's sake," he sighed, exasperated with her childish behaviour. 'Can we please focus on the job?'

Of course they couldn't. She had no idea whatsoever why they were even _there_. The murders had already happened and quite some time ago at that. Examining the scenes brought no new evidence and, honestly, no one expected anything else. They had already established that whoever stood behind those crimes made sure not to leave anything behind. Well, anything besides a body, of course.

"It's not like we're going to find something, is it?" she muttered and kneeled down, right beside a particularly large puddle.

The ground seemed to be incredibly uneven in that place, which also happened to be the exact place of the murder, judging be the pictures they had seen.

"Is there a particular spell they use to prevent the crime scenes from being washed away?" she asked and tapped the water with her fingers.

"I presume it's the same spell we use," Fabré answered, lowering himself to her current position. "It's not like it doesn't rain in France."

Clarisse sighed and looked up towards the grey, cloudy sky. She had to admit, something about this place seemed to go very well with the gloomy weather. The beautiful cathedral towered over the square, once again taking Clarisse's breath away with its raw beauty. It had been completely different from the _Notre-Dame_ , which sight had she been used to. The Westminster Cathedral was unlike anything she had ever seen before, with its single, incredibly high tower placed on one of the church's sides and its uncommon colouring. She didn't know much about architecture, but this building must have been pretty unique.

A frown appeared on her face, as she kept staring at the cathedral. Suddenly, she knew that her mind was onto something, although she couldn't make a conscious connection in that moment.

"Why here?'' she muttered more to herself than to Fabré and earned herself a puzzled glance.

"Why here what?" the man asked, but she chose not to respond, enveloped in her chaotic train of thoughts.

Something about this place simply spoke to her. She couldn't explain it, not in a rational way, but she found that rationality wasn't always needed when it came to this magical world she lived in.

"This is the third crime scene we've been to," she stated in an absent tone and her partner nodded, looking at her intently. 'This is also the third church I had seen during this week'

"I take it has nothing to do with your sudden appreciation for various buildings," Fabré said and she finally switched her gaze to his form.

"No. Up to this point we had just assumed that he picks his spots based on their popularity. We thought he seeks attention, even if that means offending Muggles' religious views, by placing the bodies in front of the churches. But what if there's something more to it?" she mused out loud, causing Antoine to raise his eyebrows in a slight amusement.

"Are you saying that our killer believes in _God_?"

Clarisse snorted and shook her head. The wizards weren't big on faith, at least not that kind of faith. They believed in magic and all that came with it. Did it involve some kind of mighty creature responsible for all the creation? Not really. She highly doubted that their culprit had different beliefs, but no one could eliminate that option with all the certainty.

"How would I know, huh?" she shrugged and scratched her head, directing her gaze to the church, once more. "Maybe he does, or maybe it's something entirely different..."

There were many stories pertaining wizards and churches. After all, the Muggles desperately wanted to believe in the existence of some supernatural powers and when those finally happened, they gave credit to _God_. Clarisse couldn't picture a better place for some cunning wizards to make easy money, than a muggle church. Magic made all those hailed miracles possible and there were people incredibly eager to use that fact to their benefit.

Many of the stories about miracles and relics and all kinds of unexplainable things were complete bollocks, she had been sure of that. But some of them... Denying the fact that the old cathedrals held some power inside their walls would be quite pointless. Years of practising magic inside of them, years of performing various rituals or even years of witnessing millions of prayers turned those places into incredibly powerful artefacts of sorts.

Could it be that the killer worked under that exact assumption? Maybe he didn't crave attention or recognition. Maybe all he wanted was that raw power dwelling inside those stone walls?

"But why?" she muttered to herself, completely forgetting about Fabré's presence. "And what for?"

"Am I supposed to read your thoughts, Clarisse?" the Auror asked with exasperation, putting an end to her musings. "I'll admit, it would probably be hilarious most of the time, but I'd rather not to do this. I've heard you have a very _dirty mind."_

Clarisse smirked at him and tilted her head, challenging him to hold her gaze. The man had been older than her, but that age difference hadn't been nearly enough to make her refrain from teasing him most of the time. Sure, he happened to be her mentor, but it didn't make him any less _manly_. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I also have a very dirty mouth to match it," she finally said, when he refused to let her win their stare contest. "So I guess reading my thoughts wouldn't be more entertaining than letting me speak."

"Speak then."

She nodded and shared her little theory with him, causing him to frown in a sign of deep reverie. It gave her a couple of seconds to study his handsome face; though and rough around the edges, but attractive nonetheless. Of course, not everyone would agree with her, especially not people who liked that classic, cliché epitome of beauty. Antoine Fabré's face had definitely lacked the symmetry so desired by many women, his jaw was extremely sharp and his lips too thin. His gaze, though... Clarisse had to admit, she had spent way too much time picturing those clear, blue eyes boring deep into her own with a great passion.

Finally, she had to stop with the staring, as his eyes became focused again. He smirked at her and Clarisse knew that he decided her idea hadn't been half bad.

"It does have some sense," Antoine admitted and stood up from his crouched position. "But only _some_. I still have no idea what he wanted to gain from accessing that power you mentioned. He certainly didn't need it to perform the killings."

Clarisse nodded and sighed. Merlin, how she hated that case... They were literally trying to grasp smoke. They had no clues and no viable explanation of the killer's intentions. All they had were theories.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" Clarisse said and stood up as well, smoothing her blasted coat. "I can't look at myself any longer. Not in that _thing_."

Fabre looked at her with amusement, as he raised his brows.

"You do know that you're a witch and can change the colour of that _thing_?"

"Of course I bloody well know it," she grunted and scowled. "It's still going to be ugly."

"Buy a new one, then."

"Fuck no. I have no intentions of returning to this country _ever again,"_ she stated firmly, causing her partner to smile genuinely for the first time that day.

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but no one cares for your intentions."

To say that she was mad, would be an understatement. After all, how could one feel differently in that kind of situation? Not only was she forced to prolong her stay in that wet place, no matter how dirty it sounded, but now she also had to chase Auror Finley like a _dog_. She understood the necessity of keeping their conversations as secretive as possible, which meant avoiding owls and letters in general, since those were incredibly easy to intercept. But why was she the one who needed to cross the entire country in order to meet up with him?

Even the unique opportunity to see Hogwarts hadn't been enough to coax her into accepting that task without as much as a word of a protest. Maybe if she was to meet with anyone else, things would feel different. But when it came to Auror Finley, nothing worked the way it was supposed to. Something about him _irked her_. Sure, it might have had something to do with his dislike towards her person, but Clarisse had a strong feeling that it wasn't the only reason behind her reluctance. The fact that he simply _ordered her_ to appear at Hogwarts did nothing to change that, without any doubts.

Finley had even failed to provide her with the information on how to get there. After all, she hadn't been one of Hogwarts' many students. She hadn't even been British. And yet, he expected her to show up on a whim, just because he couldn't have Apparated himself out of the bloody castle. Why was he even in there to begin with?

"Bloody hate him," she muttered under her breath, as she tried to steady herself after the Apparition.

The world stopped spinning and she found herself looking at a massive castle, which beauty almost took her breath away. She had expected a building similar to the one belonging to the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, but this... This was simply indescribable. She kept staring in awe at the castle's many towers and windows, wondering how many secrets were hidden inside those walls. Even after seeing all those churches, even after living in Paris for such a long time, Hogwarts took her breath away, making her forget about the anger she felt only seconds ago.

"Can I help you, Miss?" she heard someone's voice and spun around immediately.

Apparently, she had failed to notice the village around her in that initial awe she felt. This had to be Hogsmeade, one of the entirely magical places in the Great Britain. Clarisse had to admit, it kind of felt like it. Not only because of the great castle towering over it, but also because of that unique atmosphere that could only mean one thing -magic.

The man standing in front of her looked genuinely interested in her well-being. He was smiling, while his eyes shone with curiosity.

"No, thank you, sir," she answered and returned his smile. "I'm just passing through."

"Ah, you're a foreigner!" he exclaimed excitedly, completely ignoring her polite decline. "French, I suppose?"

She nodded, deciding that no harm could be done by confirming her nationality and the man clasped his hands with joy.

"We rarely have visitors from other countries! One could think that the proximity of Hogwarts could change this, huh?'' he laughed and extended his palm towards her. "My name is Corrick Leighton. I work at the Flourish and Blotts, the Hogsmeade branch!"

Was she supposed to know what it meant? Clarisse nodded, deciding that it didn't matter anyway.

"Nice to meet you, Monsieur Leighton. Like I said, I'm just passing through. I need to get to Hogwarts," she said, hoping that the man would quit pulling her into conversation, but apparently her hopes were futile once again.

"Ah, understandable! Allow me to escort you then. The way is quite simple, but the company surely wouldn't hurt!" he said, making Clarisse sigh internally. "What did you say your name was?"

She didn't. Quite purposefully at that. It became obvious, though, that Mr Leigthon had no intentions of leaving her be, so she decided to humour him.

"Auror Clarisse Bouchard," she said and watched his face lit up in excitement.

"Auror? What does a foreign Auror want with Hogwarts?"

Oh, she wanted absolutely nothing. After all, Finley forced her to come here, but she couldn't tell Corrick that, could she?

"I'm meeting a... _friend,"_ Clarisse answered, trying to keep the scowl away from her face.

"It must be someone important if you decided to visit another country! Your intended, perhaps?" the man laughed, making her nauseous.

"That's a very disturbing idea," she muttered and this time couldn't keep a straight face, as the corners of her mouth twitched, forming into a scowl.

"Someone from the family then?"

Clarisse sighed and shook her head, partially in denial, partially due to the annoyance evoked by the man's nosiness.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't talk about this," she said dryly, wanting to stop all the questions.

"Pardon me, Auror Bouchard! It's just that I don't have the opportunity to meet many strangers. It's rather quiet in here, most of the time."

She sighed once again and nodded stiffly, although she didn't like pretending to understand his nosiness. One thing she really hated about socialising was the constant urge to pry into everyone else's lives that most of the people possessed. Maybe she did too. But she tried to make a point of not following up on it.

"Have you ever been to Hogwarts before?" he asked after a moment of silence and this time, she shook her head.

"I'm French. I had no business being here."

"That's understandable, I presume," he agreed and smiled fondly. "Although I bet you will regret it, after seeing the school."

"It certainly is impressive," she admitted and looked up, skimming over the castle that got larger and larger by every minute.

Clarisse wished she could have spent the entire way towards the imposing building all by herself, admiring its beauty and focusing on it, rather than on the constant babbling coming out her companion's mouth.

"I must say, the time spent at Hogwarts had been one of the best times in my life. There's no place quite like it in the entire world."

The longing in Corrick's voice managed to catch her attention. Was that how British folks felt about school? Sure, she had fun at Beauxbatons, but she never felt so connected to it, that she _wished_ she could go back. Her life had been pretty satisfying, after all. She had a brilliant future ahead of her, being smart and incredibly dedicated to learn. Would her thoughts be any different if she ended up in Flourish and Blotts, whatever that was?

"I never felt as connected to magic as I did back there," he smiled sadly and sighed. "I guess that's the main reason why I chose to work in Hogsmeade rather than in the Diagon Alley."

"You're a Wizard. You're always connected to magic," she pointed out and shrugged. "This castle may be ancient and powerful, but it's never going to be more magical than someone filled with magic from head to toes."

He looked at her with surprise and then smiled.

"You have a point there"

Of course she had. The castle had been the creation of Wizards and Witches, not the other way around, hadn't it? The magic made it possible, but still... It was the magic wielded by _people._ Very powerful people, at that.

"You have to admit, though, we don't use that kind of magic anymore. Some of the Founders powers' got lost over time, making us plain, ordinary even. The Battle of Hogwarts only proves my point," Corrick sighed and smiled sadly.

Clarisse frowned, looking at him with sudden interest. Being French certainly did nothing to improve her knowledge about Great Britain's history, but there were things that one could not simply _not know_. The war against Voldemort had been one of them, obviously. She highly doubted that Harry Potter's name had been a mystery to anyone in the wizarding world, regardless of their nationality. He had defeated Voldemort, one of the greatest Dark Wizards in history, during said battle. But just as everything else in this world, it had its cost. Many people had died, but the biggest damage had been done to the castle itself. It took hundreds of survivors to rebuilt it quickly enough to let the students go back to school and remotely normal lives.

"Originally, it had been built by only four people. They made it from scratch, they adjured their magic inside its walls. This place is unique not only because of hundreds of years of history. There is simply no one who could repeat their achievement. Not anymore."

Sadness in his voice affected even her usually cold heart. She looked up and let her eyes roam over the castle that got bigger and bigger with every passing second. Corrick's words bore some truth to them and admitting that felt incredibly depressing. Even someone as ambitious and driven as herself couldn't compare to the wizards from the old times. But why? Why did the power harnessed by their ancestors with such ease disappear forcing everyone to dwell on memories and hail things that were forever lost?

"Forgive me, Miss Bouchard. I didn't want to sadden you," Corrick's voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she shrugged dismissively.

"I'm not sad. It's just interesting."

The man beside her looked at her intently, but didn't say a word. Clarisse felt surprised, as apparently he decided to stay quiet for the rest of the way, allowing her to think her actions through.

Looking for Finley seemed quite pointless. The castle had been huge and she didn't know a single thing about its layout. She had also no idea why he was even there to begin with. Maybe he just wanted to make her life miserable? She wouldn't be surprised if that had been the case, but she wasn't going to let him succeed at his evil plan.

As soon as they had reached the castle gate, she spun around to face Corrick and smiled at the man genuinely. He turned out to be quite pleasant company, if he kept his mouth shut.

"Thank you for showing me the way. I appreciate it," she offered politely and the man smiled brilliantly in response, clearly satisfied with her words.

"Ah, don't mention it, Miss! The pleasure is all mine!" he answered and extended his hand towards her.

Clarisse grabbed it without hesitation and squeezed firmly, bidding him farewell. A moment later, Corrick Leigthon spun around and walked away, leaving her alone in front of the old, tall gate protecting the entrance to the school grounds. She sighed and took out her wand, concentrating on the happiest memory she had –the day of her graduation from the Auror training, the first day of her dreamed-of life.

"E _xpecto Patronum_ ," she murmured and watched as a silver mist sprung out of her wand, slowly taking the form of a beautiful horse.

Warmth spread throughout her body, just as it always did when she conjured her Patronus. Clarisse would never admit it out loud, but it had been one of her favourite spells. Not only because it required to recall the best, happiest memory the caster had, but also because it served as a proof, that no matter how sarcastic, mean and unpleasant she could have been, she still had a long way to go before she became a bad person. Death Eaters weren't able to conjure it, as this spell consisted purely of good energy. Their minds, corrupted by the Dark Arts, void of any happiness, simply weren't able to produce a full-fledged animal form.

Her Patronus formed completely and began prancing around happily, bringing smile to her face.

"Quit the fun, sweetheart. I need you to deliver a message to Auror Finley," she said and watched the mare become still, awaiting orders. "Auror Finley, I'm waiting in front of the castle Gate. Would you be so kind to come here to meet me? I don't fancy the idea of getting lost."

She didn't care for being polite, not to him anyway. Being on his soil forced her to be civil, to respond to his ridiculous request, but it definitely didn't require her to like the man. Clarisse watched as her Patronus pranced towards the castle and she smiled, feeling incredibly grateful to Albus Dumbledore for inventing such a method of communication. It hadn't been known to many people, but the Ministries of Magic all over the Europe made sure to teach their Aurors how to conjure a Patronus. Not only because it came in handy, but also because it served as a wonderful method of eliminating evil people from such a crucial position.

The war changed many things. Voldemort nearly destroyed the world everyone knew and loved even with all its flaws. Great Britain had been all alone in their fight and Clarisse loathed that fact. She knew that her country didn't want to engage in the war merely because it hadn't reached French borders.

'It wasn't our problem', she had heard on multiple occasions and it drove her mad.

How anyone could have thought that Voldemort would simply stop after conquering Britain? She saw no logic in that train of thoughts, as it was clear as day that the man had been completely crazy and obsessed with power. France had always been more liberal when it came to blood status, even with multiple exceptions from that general rule. It seemed like an obvious choice for Voldemort's next goal and the government did nothing to prevent that from happening. Instead of aiding their neighbours in their war, putting an end to everything, they were willing to risk finding themselves all alone in the same fight.

She had been merely a little girl when it all had happened, but growing up helped her realise a couple of things and made her determined to prevent something like that from happening again. From her first day at the Ministry, she was trying everything in her power to make sure that everyone realised their mistake regarding participation in the war. Of course, no one wanted to listen to her, pointing out that she couldn't know anything about those horrific events, as she was a child when they took place, but she refused to give up.

Luckily for her, even French government had to notice the changes initiated by Great Britain. Harry Potter turned out to be much, much more than a war hero, as he fought for opening the borders, for establishing international organisation destined to make the entire wizarding world a better place –place fully equipped to fight such evil, if it were to return. France had no other choice but to adjust to this entirely new plan of managing conflicts and cooperation.

Clarisse might have hated working with Finley, but there was no denying its necessity. Whoever stood behind those horrific crimes they had encountered, the word _evil_ felt quite accurate to describe him.

She simply had to suck it up and survive, if she wanted to solve this case and prevent something really terrible from happening again. The wizarding world didn't need another psychopath roaming around. Not now, not ever.


	4. Chapter 4: The Book

Hogwarts had been incredible. No matter how hard she wanted to stay calm and impassive, she simply couldn't, when she looked around the corridors and many halls she passed on her way to one of the classrooms. Clarisse felt so taken by the castle, that she almost wished she didn't have to follow Finley's Patronus, which happened to be a stag.

The school year was obviously coming to an end, as she could see students roaming the corridors with piles of books in their hands and anxiety painted all over their faces. She remembered times when her own exams used to suck the life out of her, especially when it came to subjects she truly disliked. Seeing so many young people going through that same stress made her feel extremely old and sentimental, which was something she didn't like even one bit.

Clarisse wondered once again why she got summoned to the castle. Obviously, Finley hadn't been a student in here and, as far as she knew, he hadn't been a teacher. What was it then? Why was she here?

She stopped abruptly, when the Patronus she had been following disappeared, leaving her in the middle of the corridor with absolutely no clue as to her whereabouts.

"Are you kidding me?" she muttered quietly and looked up with exasperation.

Clearly, Finley decided that leaving her all alone would be a hilarious joke, only proving his absolute lack of sense of humour. She looked around, searching for a student, who could tell her where she would find that bloody Englishman, but the corridor had been empty.

Should she cast another Patronus? Or maybe she should walk around, making an idiot out of herself? Clarisse ground her teeth and decided that she didn't want to give Finley satisfaction, so she moved forward.

It took her a couple of minutes to find a student –a small girl with bushy hair and big, blue eyes.

"Hello," she greeted her trying to sound as pleasant as possible, but the girl clearly didn't appreciate her efforts. "Do you know where I can find Auror Finley?"

The girl looked at her with surprise and then blushed slightly, making Clarisse frown.

"Professor Finley is probably in his classroom, Miss," she said in a small voice and bit her lip anxiously. "Why are you looking for him?"

Clarisse raised her brows and scratched her head with annoyance. _Professor Finley?_ Did the Aurors in Great Britain earn so little that they had to take on different jobs? Why would anyone who, as much as it pained her to admit, had a successful career as an Auror decide to teach teenagers?

"Miss?" the girl spoke up again, gaining Clarisse's attention.

"Sorry. He asked me to come here. Could you tell me where his classroom is?"

"Oh. I can take you there! Hogwarts is really complicated and you're clearly not from here."

"Thank you," Clarisse inclined her head and smiled tightly, as her mind still tried to figure out the reasons behind Finley's professorship.

The girl turned around and gestured her to follow her, which Clarisse did without hesitation.

"So... _Professor_ Finley, huh?" she asked after a moment of silence and the little student nodded.

"Our previous professor had an accident and we needed someone who could step in for him. Professor Finley agreed."

"What subject does he teach?"

"The Defence Against the Dark Arts, of course," the girl replied with a smile and Clarisse nodded.

Well, that was kind of predictable. After all, she could hardly think of someone better suited for that position than an Auror. Still, he didn't strike her as a teacher material.

"Is he any good?" Clarisse asked and watched with a smirk as the girl blushed again.

Ah, so that was the reason for her behaviour. Finley was young, quite attractive and he had that dominative aura about him, that probably impressed teenage girls more than anything.

"He's great, Miss. His knowledge is really impressive and he's doing a really good job at passing it onto us," the girl said, while her blush kept growing.

"He's also hot, isn't he?" Clarisse asked with irony and fought the urge to chuckle, seeing as the girl tripped over her own legs.

"Um... He's a Professor."

Clarisse laughed and shook her head. Oh, yeah. She remembered that time in her life when lusting over Professors seemed completely wrong, immoral even. Sure, the relationship between a student and a teacher wouldn't be a great idea, but it always seemed funny that people were so scared of being called perverts that they didn't want to admit to liking someone's appearance.

"Sure thing," she said, despite her thoughts and shrugged.

Last thing she wanted was to encourage a teenage girl to explore her crush towards Finley, no matter how bad she wanted to make his life bothersome.

A few minutes and several turns later, the girl stopped in front of a seemingly normal pair of doors. She smiled sheepishly and hugged her books closer.

"We're here, Miss. Can I help you with anything else?"

Clarisse smiled and shook her head.

"No. But the next time you're going to meet a complete stranger, make sure to gather some information about them, instead of just offering your help. I could have been a murderer for all you know"

The girl blushed again and nodded her head eagerly, albeit with embarrassment. Next thing, she turned around and left Clarisse alone, in front of the door to Finley's classroom.

Without hesitation, she pulled the handle and entered the room as quietly as possible. The door creaked slightly, but the sound got muffled by Finley's voice, so no one noticed her, apart from the Auror himself.

"Who can tell me something about the Dementors?" he asked, switching his gaze back to the students, completely ignoring Clarisse, who leaned against the doorway.

A couple of students raised their hands, while Finley skimmed the crowd. Finally his eyes stopped at the boy sitting in the middle of the room, who seemed completely uninterested in the lesson.

"Mr Grayson? Care to enlighten your peers?'' he asked with a slight smirk on his handsome face.

"No, professor," the boy answered in an impassive voice and Clarisse couldn't help but cheer for that cheeky teenager, who apparently didn't care for Finley as well.

"Are you telling me you don't know such a basic thing?"

"No, I'm telling you I don't want to _enlighten my peers_."

This time, she couldn't stop herself from snorting in amusement, making everyone turn around with surprised looks painted on their faces. Finley gave her an angry stare, but she couldn't care less. Especially not, when students started to whisper to each other, completely disrupting Finley's lesson.

"Quiet," the Auror ordered in a stern tone and, to Clarisse's surprise, everyone listened to him. "Can you please wait outside?" he then spoke to her, trying not to sound extremely unpleasant as it would certainly pique student's interest more than it should.

"I don't think so," she replied and narrowed her eyes. "I've always liked this subject."

With that, she pushed herself away from the doorway and sat at the end of the classroom, where she found an empty chair.

"Hope you don't mind," she added and smiled sweetly, making herself comfortable.

"Not at all," a stiff reply reached her ears, as Finley's eyes left her silhouette. "Since Mr Grayson _refuses_ to answer my question, what, by the way, just cost Slytherin 5 points, can anyone else share their knowledge?"

Once again, a couple of students raised their hands and this time, Finley picked one of them –a girl with long, blonde hair.

"Miss Brenley?"

"A Dementor is a Dark creature, considered to be one of the foulest to inhabit the world. Dementors feed on human happiness and generate feelings of depression and despair in any person in close proximity to them. They can also consume a person's soul, leaving their victims in a permanent vegetative state. It's called a _Dementor's kiss_ and even though it doesn't kill, many believe that it is even worse than death itself," the girl explained and Clarisse smirked.

Spot on definition, she had to admit that. Still, when it came to the Dark creatures, no definition could have done them justice. The student spoke of the Dementors in a stern tone, lacking any emotion. For her, it was just some knowledge necessary for passing the exams, while Clarisse felt shivers running down her spine, reminiscing those few times when she had been forced to face one of those creatures.

"Do you know what creates them?" she asked in a quiet voice, gaining the attention of every student.

Finley looked quite angered by her interruption, but then his expression changed and he gave a slight nod, allowing Clarisse to speak.

"No, Miss," the student replied with curiosity filling her voice.

Everyone turned around to have a better vision of Clarisse, as she looked up towards the stone ceiling.

"Their origins are tied to Azkaban, apparently. You see, that place hadn't always been a prison. It was a fortress inhibited by a wizard named Ekrizdis. Pretty vile man, if you're asking me. He spent his days luring Muggle sailors into the fortress and then he tortured them brutally," she said and looked towards the students, who seemed genuinely disturbed by her tale. "Ekrizdis kept doing that for years until he finally died and the Concealment spell he placed on the fortress stopped working, allowing the British Ministry of Magic to locate it. They sent some people over there and those people came back terrified enough to refuse to talk about anything they had found on the island. The only piece of information they provided, was that the place had been infested with Dementors."

She met Finley's gaze, who, for the first time since they've met, wasn't looking at her with hostility. Actually, his face bore a curious expression, very similar to the ones on students' faces.

"There are many theories regarding their genesis. Some say that Ekrizdis created them as a form of torture for the sailors, as they fed on every single happy memory, inducing despair and insanity in their victims. Some say that no one created them in a conventional way, that they were born out of the Darkest magic, with pain and suffering serving as a catalyst. Either way, they are not just some dark creatures. Dementors are the epitome of everything vile in this world," she finished with a grim smile, as silence enveloped everyone in the room.

Finley was the one to break the sudden tension in the room as he stood up and cleared his throat, forcing students' attention to switch once again.

"Dementors are not to be taken lightly," he said quietly, looking at his class. "Like our guest said, it is extremely hard to find a creature that would be so dangerous. They are much, much more than just a definition and as your teacher, I hope you're never going to see how true that is."

Clarisse met his gaze and smiled genuinely. Apparently, he wasn't as stupid as she previously thought. At least not when it came to the Dark Arts.

"Alright. As a revision assignment, I want you to write an essay on other Dark creatures you know, at least five of them', professor ordered, while students groaned simultaneously. "Class dismissed."

A couple of minutes later, the classroom was nearly empty, leaving Clarisse and Finley alone. The woman stood up from her chair and walked towards the British Auror, who looked at her with a frown.

"Why am I here?" she asked without unnecessary lingering. "You wanted to simply get me mad or did you have a better reason?"

"That's not very nice to barge into someone's classroom and disrupt the entire lesson," Finley ignored her question with a smirk on his face, instantly bringing out her anger which managed to lessen over time.

"You know what's also _not very nice?_ " she mimicked his peculiar accent and clenched her fists. "Dragging me here without a single word of explanation and then leaving me in the middle of a gigantic castle that I have never been to before."

Finley crossed his arms over his chest and quirked one eyebrow at her.

"You're here, aren't you? Clearly, it wasn't that bad."

"How patient do you think I am?" Clarisse asked through her teeth and took another step forward. "I'm not here on vacation, you know? Your country is hardly the place I'd choose for that."

"It's not my country," he replied at once and smirked. "I'm Irish. I thought you'd be able to tell by my accent."

She rolled her eyes at his stupidity and sighed. She was _French_ , for Merlin's sake. Telling apart all of the accents might have been a very entertaining hobby, but it sure as hell wasn't a part of her training.

"Whatever," she snorted dismissively, completely ignoring his angry stare. "Is that why I'm here? You wanted to share your heritage with me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Or at least don't be ridiculous in my presence. I have little to no tolerance for that," he informed her and opened a drawer in his desk, clearly in search for something.

"Then how do you manage to put up with yourself?" she muttered, earning herself another angry stare.

Their conversation seemed to be put on hold, while Finley rummaged through different stuff in his drawer and Clarisse tapped the floor with her foot in annoyance. She really wanted to ask what he was doing, but decided against it, not wanting to give him satisfaction.

Instead, she started to look around the classroom with curiosity. It was nothing like the ones she remembered from Beauxbatons, but Clarisse considered it a good thing. Just as everything in this castle, Finley's classroom possessed an atmosphere consisting purely of magic. The students, teachers and any other inhabitants of this incredible place probably failed to see it, as they were used to it on daily basis, but Clarisse started to really understand Corrick's words about that incredible connection to magic one could feel inside those stone walls.

"Ah, there it is," Finley's voice forced her to switch her attention back to him, as he raised his hand with a book in it.

Clarisse frowned and moved towards him, trying to decipher its title, but before she was able to do that, Finley opened it and started to flick the pages at a rapid pace.

"Um... What exactly are you looking for?" she finally snapped, not being able to take the suspension anymore and the Irishman smirked with satisfaction, though his gaze never left the pages.

"You'll know when I find it.'

She didn't like his attitude very much. That smirk playing on his face made her feel incredibly anxious and weirdly murderous, although she couldn't say why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it wasn't the most _respectful_ expression on Earth or maybe it was something entirely different. She guessed that being summoned to a great castle just so he could show her a _book_ didn't help the situation at all.

"Great. It's not like you had time for that earlier, huh?" she asked in a mocking tone, causing his smirk to widen considerably.

"I'm a busy man, Clarisse," he said, using her first name.

The woman blinked, realising that she had no idea what Finley's first name was. It was so typical of her to work with someone without even asking such a basic thing. Of course, she had every information regarding his career, his skills and everything else, but a name? Why would she need it?

"Since when are we on first name basis, Auror Finley?"

"We're working together, yeah? No need for that fake politeness."

"I don't recall being polite to you, like _ever_ '," she snorted and he shrugged.

"I wouldn't brag about it, Clarisse."

"Seriously, what's with the name?" she sighed and crossed her arms on the chest. "I don't even know yours."

He looked up from the book with a genuinely surprised expression on his face and then he scowled, getting back to his lecture.

"So you're not only mean, but also arrogant, huh? Good to know."

"Said the man who didn't even have the decency to meet me at the gate, once he _requested_ my presence," she mocked him once again and then rolled her eyes at his impassive behaviour.

Silence fell between them and Clarisse couldn't help but get even more anxious. Did he even know what he was looking for? Or maybe he simply wanted to piss her off? It surely seemed to work like a charm.

"My name's Aedan," he finally muttered. "And if we are to work together, I suggest you remember it. I'm not the only _Auror Finley_ in Great Britain."

Ah, so that was the reason for his hurt expression once she told him she didn't even know his name. It made sense, at least in her mind. She was truly glad there was no one in her family that could have endangered her career or make her seem like that spoilt brat, who got everything just because of her parents' name. Aedan probably had to work twice as hard as anyone else, if he wanted to step outside his father's shadow. Or his mother's. She didn't really know.

"Fine. At least you have a pretty name," she rolled her eyes and sighed, seeing his smirk return to his face.

"Thank you, Clarisse," he said and then gestured for her to join him at his desk.

She did that without hesitation and looked at the book in his hands, which he lowered generously, so that she could see everything without problems. A frown appeared on her face when she realised that the book had been much older than it seemed, as the text covering its pages looked quite ancient.

"What is it?" she muttered and met Aeden's gaze and he smiled smugly.

"A book."

She smacked him in the shoulder, not wanting to stand his teasing any longer. He laughed softly and shook his head with amusement.

"Has anyone told you that you have anger management issues?"

"Everyone is too scared of me," she replied sweetly and pointed her finger to the item resting in his hand. "What. Is. It?"

"That's the thing. I'm not entirely sure. My father brought it home from one of his missions, many, many years ago. He had no idea what is said, but it is quite ancient. I'd say that it is written in ancient Greek, but I'm not sure," he explained and frowned.

"Why didn't you give it to someone who could tell you more about it?" Clarisse asked and traced her finger over the ink covering the page.

"Because I had no need for it. I'm keen on history, but there had been much more important things in my life than translating an old book."

That seemed like a valid explanation. Clarisse would be a big, fat liar if she had claimed that putting aside her hobbies never happened when her job called for her. Still, none of this explained his sudden interest in this book right now. And what did she have to do with it?

"It's a fascinating story and I appreciate that _bonding time..."_ she started with irony. "... but I'd really like to know, why am I here?"

Finley sighed and turned a couple of pages and Clarisse opened her mouth in surprise, when she realised that one of the pictures covering the paper had been all too familiar.

" _Merde_..." she swore in French, not being able to believe her own eyes.

"I know that word," Aeden chuckled in response, but she didn't give a damn at that moment.

Her stare was glued to the picture of a woman, lying on the ground in what seemed like a pool of her own blood. Clarisse had no troubles deciphering the source of the substance, as the woman's throat had been slit on both sides of her neck, along her carotid arteries. The wounds had been narrow and incredibly neat, taking Clarisse back to that beautiful morning, when she had been summoned to the _Notre-Dame_ Cathedral.

She stopped staring at the lifeless form of the woman and lowered her gaze to the drawing of an encrusted knife. Could that be the exact magical artefact that was used to commit the crimes, according to the French and British Forensic Departments?

"How the fuck is that even possible?" she asked and bit her lip.

"I don't know. I don't even know what that means, Clarisse. I mean, what are the chances that the guy we're looking for had been the previous owner of this book, huh?"

"I'd say they are freaking gigantic, Aeden," she snorted and shook her head in disbelief. "I doubt that there are multiple copies of it lying around."

"Aren't you smart," he mumbled and sighed, scratching his head. "We don't even know what the books says. Maybe it's a common knowledge, or at least it was quite some time ago."

"The phrase _quite some time ago_ doesn't seem to do it justice," the woman said and clicked her tongue. "Well, it doesn't matter. Common knowledge or not, this is the first real clue we have, so we need to jump on it as soon as possible. Do you know someone who can translate this damned thing?"

Aeden shook his head and scowled, while Clarisse sighed once again.

"In that case, you need to lend it to me, so I can take it back to France."

"Do _you_ know someone able to translate it?"

She truly wished she didn't. After all, it would mean that she had a normal, healthy family without a mother who claimed to be a Seer or something as ridiculous. Her mother's interest were peculiar to say the least, but, fortunately, they involved travelling the world in search of various, ancient documents. Raising her daughter in _Latin_ didn't fall under the 'Mother of the year' category, but it certainly proved her language skills.

"Trust me, I do," she said and smiled so crookedly that Aedan raised his eyebrows with curiosity. "I'll get it done, but I think you should talk to your father about his mission. Anything could be of help."

Finley looked at her with a grumpy expression, as his face became even paler.

"You clearly hadn't tried talking to my father."

"Would be weird if I had, wouldn't it?" she grinned in response and shrugged. "Your family, your problem"

Clarisse took the book out of his hands and closed it lightly. She took out her wand and casted a protective spell over it and then hid it inside of her robes' pocket. Before Finley could react, she swirled around and started to walk towards the door. A couple of steps later, a thought made her stop and face the man once again.

"Why exactly did you summon me here? Why me and not Fabre?" she asked with a genuine interest. "I was under the impression you _really, really_ hated me."

"It's nothing personal, Clarisse. I just don't think women are the right for this job. It can be hell and you are..." he stopped and clicked his tongue, searching for an accurate word. "...quite delicate."

And there she was, thinking that Finley was actually decent. She snatched her wand out of its sheathe and casted a Stunning spell in an instant, watching him fall to the floor with a loud bang.

"Call me delicate again and I will rip your eyeballs off and stick them up your nose, you sexist jerk," she informed him in a sweet tone and sheathed her wand once again.

She really _did_ have anger management issues, but at that moment... She was too satisfied to care.


	5. Chapter 5: The Darkness

"Yes, mom, I am fully aware of the fact that I haven't gained any weight. I already told you that I'm required to stay fit," Clarisse sighed for the hundredth time that evening, feeling incredibly worn out from having to endure her mother's constant babbling.

"Clarie, sweetheart, you can't talk to me like that," her mother said with a pout that made her look like a little girl. "I'm your mother."

And people wondered why she absolutely despised being called _Clarie._ As if being forced to hear it from her mother wasn't enough.

"Yes, I know that too. Can we please stop talking about me, my weight and my non-existent love life?" Clarisse muttered and scratched her head with annoyance. "I really need your help, as I've mentioned a couple hundred of times."

"You really need to work on your manners. I haven't seen you for a month and now you refuse to answer any of my questions!"

"Can't you... I don't know, foretell my answers?"

"Don't be ridiculous," her mother snorted and gave her an outraged look. "The Inner Eye doesn't work on a whim."

Clarisse really doubted that it worked in general, but telling that to her mother felt completely pointless, so she simply nodded and smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry, mom. I know it's rude of me to come here and refuse to talk to you, but it's really important. My work..."

"... is the only thing that matters, I know that."

Merlin, how she hated her sometimes. It seemed almost impossible that the woman sitting in front of her, drinking her wine cheerfully had been related to her _at all_. Clarisse didn't even look like her. Her mother had pretty, blonde hair that fell down to her waist in an impressive wave. Her eyes were emerald green and they always seemed to see much more than anyone else's. She was the complete opposite of her daughter, but somehow it managed to elude her mind. Clarisse always had to dress the same way, like the same things and forget the meaning of the _private space_.

Her mother never really understood Clarisse's drive to be an Auror. She claimed that the job hadn't been carved out for a woman with a gift of Seeing. _Too many dead people_ , she usually said and shook her head with worry, while Clarisse tried not to burst into laughter. Eventually, though, her mom had to accept the fact that her little girl had a mind of her own and said mind clearly despised the idea of Clarisse being anything else than an Auror.

"My work matters, because people are _dying._ I have to stop the killer before he takes another life and I need your help to do that," Riss tried to reason with the woman once again and this time, her mother nodded after rolling her eyes.

For someone so invested in her _spiritual development,_ she surely didn't care that much for other people's well being.

"Alright. What is it, pumpkin?"

Ignoring the _cute nickname_ her mother used, Clarisse took out the old book from her bag and carefully laid it out for her mother to see.

"One of the Aurors from the Great Britain gave me this, so you could translate it. It appears to be written in Ancient Greek, but I'm not sure," she explained, trying to find the exact page that Aedan had shown her.

Her mother looked at the book with a weird expression, but didn't say a word, allowing Clarisse to focus on the task. After several seconds, the Auror smiled with satisfaction when she spotted the familiar wounds on the woman's neck and she pushed the book towards her mother.

"That is the chapter I need you to translate. Whatever it says, we are hoping that it will help us find the killer."

"Why?" her mother whispered and lowered her palm towards the book, but didn't touch it.

"You see those marks on the woman's neck? I've seen them before. Our killer seems to favour that particular way of killing people," Clarisse explained with her eyes fixed on her mother's hand, which was shaking lightly just an inch above the page.

"I don't like this, Clarie," her mother whispered and closed her eyes for a second, an expression full of agony crossing her face. "This book is evil, I know it"

Oh, Merlin... Clarisse rolled her eyes with exasperation and sighed. If she had been given a Knut for every single time her mother had said something in that fashion, she probably wouldn't have to work till the end of her life.

"Yes, mom. It speaks of ways to _murder people_. It's hardly a goodnight read."

Suddenly, her mother's eyes snapped open, forcing Clarisse to take a sharp intake of breath when instead of those emerald green irises all she saw was darkness. It lasted for a second and then disappeared, as her mother withdrew her hand from above the old pages. The Auror blinked a couple of times, trying to determine whether she had just made this up, but the woman sitting across the table looked way too shaken for it to have only been a figment of Clarisse's imagination.

"Where did you get that?" her mother asked in a trembling tone and stood up rapidly, suddenly searching for something.

"I... I told you. The Auror from the UK gave it to me," she replied absentmindedly, unable to get a grip on the situation.

"And where did he get it?"

"His father brought this from one of his missions. He's an Auror too."

Her mother searched the shelve with desperation, not caring if she destroyed multiple papers lying on top of it. Finally, she grabbed a small key, which Clarisse recognized immediately as the key to the family safe. A frown appeared on her face when she realised that her mother kept something so important almost in plain sight, but she chose not to comment on that, her gaze fixed on the woman's silhouette.

She watched as the older woman walked briskly towards one of the paintings hanging on the wall, trying to unsheathe her wand from its holster attached to her thigh. A quick flick of her hand later, the painting dispersed into thin air, showing a pair of door encrusted with golden ornaments and jewels.

The safe resembled the ones used by Muggles, but Clarisse knew that it was impenetrable, as opening the lock required a key bound by magic to that exact copy of the safe. No spell would work against it, Clarisse could attest to that after spending several years trying to somehow cheat the mechanism.

Her mother opened the door with shaking hands and took out a small object wrapped in a brown paper, probably to protect it and make it as uninteresting as possible. She had seen that package before, on multiple occasions. Whenever her mother got one of her moods, that consisted mostly of telling everyone that something bad was going to happen, she wore that necklace that was now hidden inside the dull piece of folded paper.

Before Clarisse could have said something, the older woman pushed the package into her hand and then closed her palm over the one belonging to her daughter.

"I want you to take it," she hissed with force and shook her head. "This book..."

"... is evil," Clarisse finished the sentence for her and leaned forward, meeting her mother's gaze. "But why, mom? Why would you think so? Do you know what it says?"

"It's very dark, Clarie. The magic hidden inside those pages is ancient and powerful. You _have_ to leave it alone."

"You know I can't. People are dying!"

"Better them than you!"

With that, the older woman took a few steps back and grabbed her wand once again, pointing it towards the book.

"It would be best if I burnt it down," she muttered and started to cast a spell, when Clarisse snatched the wand from her hand.

"No! I _need_ it. You cannot simply destroy our lead, just because of some negative feelings!"

"Those are not just feelings, Clarie!" her mother exclaimed and shook her head with clear disappointment. "If only you had opened up your mind, you would know what I mean. But you have always been too stubborn for your own good."

"Oh, my mind is open! Which is why I won't let some kind of premonition get in my way of saving innocent lives!"

Clarisse truly hated those moments, when her mother looked at her with regret and disappointment. Sure enough, she had never been a perfect daughter. Hell, she had never been even a _decent_ one, always striving for things that other girls strayed away from. She also had a bad temper - a gift from her father - and it only made her mother resent Clarisse even more.

She never wanted to hurt her mother over and over, but they weren't cut from the same cloth. No one had ever doubted that. No one, but that one woman standing in front of her with the look of utter disappointment written all over her face.

"Mark my words, sweetheart. One day you're going to find out how wrong you were. I just hope that it won't be too late to save yourself," the woman had finally whispered and her tone made a shiver run up Clarisse's spine. "I can't give you what you want. I'm sorry, Clarie."

With that, she spun around and started walking towards the door leading to the garden. Riss found herself watching her mother's silhouette with a stunned expression. Never had she seen her mother so disturbed and shaken. They had their fights, a lot of them actually, but they had always worked everything out eventually. They sure as hell didn't leave the other one in need, no matter how tense things were.

What the hell was wrong with that book? Her gaze laid upon the yellowed pages and a frown appeared on her face. The book looked completely ordinary for something that old. It also couldn't have been cursed, as Finley would undoubtedly had spotted it. He was an _idiot,_ but not this big. And yet, her mother claimed that it held a very powerful magic within its pages.

This entire situation felt weird. With her family, things rarely got normal, but this... This was something else and Clarisse didn't know what to think of it. Her mother clearly knew more than she had told her and that knowledge scared her. It scared her to the point where she decided to give away her most treasured trophy from one of her many travels - that necklace lying safely in Clarisse's hand.

The Auror looked down and opened her palm, carefully unwrapping the piece of jewelry. Seeing that weird black and white stone reminded her of all those times she glanced at it as a little girl, wishing it could belong to her. Not that it was particularly pretty. It had this milky shade of white with multiple black veins crossing its surface in an interesting pattern. Compared to other jewels, though, it wasn't spectacular. Clarisse remembered her mother calling it a _Merlinite,_ but there was no way of telling whether this had been the real case. Either way, according to the older woman's musings, it held _a lot_ of power within.

Riss gently caressed its surface and felt a spark of electricity rushing through her entire arm, causing her to nearly drop the necklace. A frown appeared on her face, as she tried to once again come up with an answer to all the questions circling her tired mind. An image of the darkness filling her mothers' eyes appeared out of nowhere and she clenched her fist with the necklace inside of it.

Clarisse had never wanted to become a younger version of her mom. Actually, the thought scared her to no end. But would it be wrong to indulge the older woman for once and wear that stupid stone? She had no idea what the hell happened today, but if there was even a slight chance that her mother might have been right...

With a loud sigh, she unclasped the necklace and put it around her neck. She felt almost disappointed when nothing happened, but on the other hand, it was only a stone and stones weren't exactly dangerous last time she checked.

Her thoughts consisted of pure chaos, making her head ache. Clarisse knew that finding an explanation to her mother's behaviour had to become one of her priorities, but she still needed to translate that damned book. Finley would undoubtedly kill her if she had failed to do her job. Or worse, he would think that his stupid chauvinistic views had actually been _right_. She couldn't let that happen.

Sparing one last glance at the garden, Clarisse spun around and exited her family's house with her mind full of chaos.


	6. Chapter 6: The Unexplainable

"Can you believe that?" Clarisse asked with clear exasperation, tearing apart another piece of paper containing an answer from one of the Ministerial Translators. "No one in this place speaks Ancient Greek," she informed Jacques and he giggled at her annoyance.

"Purely outrageous," he admitted, albeit solely out of politeness.

Her friend seemed genuinely amused by her frantic behaviour and Clarisse knew that she was being a little ridiculous. But what choice did she have, if the Ministry had no need for people, who could actually help her solve this murder? She could have sworn that the French government had been smarter than that, but apparently, her life in the past few days provided her with nothing but disappointments.

Just when she was about to reach for another note with – probably- another negative answer, a letter whooshed into her office and hit her on the forehead.

"What the hell is that?" she growled angrily, while Jacques tilted his head back with roaring laughter.

Clarisse really wasn't in the mood for one of his joyous outbursts, so she grabbed the red envelope and ripped it open, before her friend managed to stop her.

"Clarisse, wait!" he exclaimed, his laughter gone in a blink of an eye, but it was too late.

 _"You bloody idiot!"_ Finley's voice roared from the insides of the letter, which had taken the form of a moving mouth.

How the hell did she manage to miss the fact, that she had received a _Howler?_ Was she going blind?

 _"Do you have any idea what have you done?! You stunned me and then you left me in my classroom! Empty classroom! I lied on the floor for hours, until a student appeared there to serve a detention! He had to Rennervate me, you bloody wench!"_

Oh, boy. She had never heard someone scream so loud in her entire life and she had heard _a lot_ of different things. Her ears started to hurt after his first sentence, but nothing could have diminished the satisfaction coursing through her entire body. It served him right, that pompous jerk.

 _"You humiliated me in front of my students, Bouchard! This was incredibly unprofessional and way beneath a certain level that someone of your position should present!"_

Really? He _dared_ to speak about maintaining a certain level of professionalism, after he had just called her _a bloody wench_? Maybe he truly was a blithering idiot.

 _"You can be sure that your boss will hear of it. I can't wait to learn that you had been suspended or even fired. To think that you wanted me to respect you equally… Way to go, Bouchard. You had just proven that you are just like any other stupid chits – driven by emotions, highly irresponsible and plain stupid"_

The satisfaction disappeared out of her body in an instant. Did he really just say all of those things?

"That son of a bitch," she muttered after the Howler exploded to pieces and the room became quiet once again.

There were no words that could have described the anger she felt. Clarisse almost wanted to go back to Scotland right away and kick his Irish ass, but she stopped herself realising that she would be forced to look at him and that thought felt incredibly repulsive.

"Auror Bouchard," her boss' stern voice sounded from behind her and she closed her eyes with exasperation.

Could her day get any worse? Because she started to feel strongly convinced that it simply wasn't possible.

"Auror Dechamps," she chirped happily and turned around with a forced smile plastered on her face. "How can I help you today?"

"You could go to my office and explain why I shouldn't fire you right away."

Great. A lecture from her boss was all she needed. Reluctantly she got up from her chair and followed Ludovic out of the room, sending a pitiful look in Jacques direction and her friend smiled sympathetically.

After she had exited her own office, she started to wonder whether she should start explaining herself now or later, but the man walking next to her answered that question for her.

"You shouldn't have stunned Auror Finley," he said in a grim tone and she sighed with annoyance.

"Fine. I let my emotions get the better of me. But he shouldn't have said that I'm _delicate_ and unable to do my job properly. He didn't even bother to greet me at the Gates; he let me roam around Hogwarts completely alone, without any clues as to his whereabouts and he did it only because I am a _woman_ " she said and gritted her teeth.

Her boss sighed and shook his head. He clearly wasn't happy with her behaviour, but Clarisse suspected that she was not the only one that made him displeased. Ludovic Deschamps had little to no tolerance for people who acted childish and immature and Aeadan's behaviour didn't exactly strike her as responsible.

"You two have to find a way to work things out. I don't care if you don't like him, I don't care if he doesn't like you. There are far more important things than your _personal feelings_."

Clarisse nodded and relaxed, realising that it would probably be the end of her reprimand. Her boss had no intentions of firing her and that qualified as great news.

Still, if he didn't want to fire her, where were they going? And why did he lie in front of Jacques? As on cue, her boss furrowed his brows and said:

"It took them a while, but Forensics claim to have all test results. I don't know what to expect, but I wanted to keep it quiet for a while. It could be good, judging by the amount of time they needed."

Clarisse rolled her eyes at that information and smirked. She hated working without any useful information regarding her current case, but the Forensics forced her to do that quite often. She couldn't deny, though, that once they had finished their analysis, results always proved to be pretty immaculate and incredibly interesting.

"One could think that a serial killer on the loose would make them work faster," she muttered and her boss agreed quietly.

"I tried to explain that to them, but I was drowned out by all of the scientific babbling coming out of their mouths."

"Well, let's just hope that they are going to provide us with something good," she sighed in response and her boss agreed quietly.

"How are the things going with that book you showed me? Did your mother translate it?"

Clarisse scratched her head with annoyance and clicked her tongue. What was she supposed to say? 'Oh, here's the thing… My mother is mad as a hatter and she refused to even touch it?'. It didn't sound all that good.

"Um… I'm working on it," she muttered and earned herself a curious glance from Deschamps.

"Clarisse, I hope you know how important it is," he said cautiously and she rolled her eyes.

No, she had become stupid over the night and forgot how to do her job. Of course, she _knew_. She wouldn't have spent the entire morning trying to find anyone who could help her with that damned translation.

"Yes, sir," she replied with a fake smile knowing that sharing her thoughts on that matter wasn't a good idea, especially after Finley's Howler.

Deschamps didn't need another reason to be pissed at her.

"Good. Auror Finley tells me you insisted on taking that book with you, so it wouldn't be a good thing if you failed to deliver."

Clarisse looked at him with surprise and furrowed her brows. A smug smile was tugging at her boss' mouth, making her slightly annoyed. Did he know about that entire situation with Finley before? Why hadn't he said anything?

"Did he tell you about our little fight?" she asked and Deschamps nodded, raising his eyebrows in genuine amusement.

"He didn't call it _little_ , but yes. You had really made an impression on him. Not a good one, though."

"But if you knew, why didn't you…"

"Because he's stupid to think that I would have fired you only because you kicked his ass for all the right reasons."

She couldn't help but to smile in satisfaction at her boss' words. It was true, being an Auror hadn't been the most popular job among women, but no one in the French Auror Bureau dared to undermine her skills or authority. People seemed to accept the fact that she had been great at the job. Sure, she wasn't as strong as men, but she wielded her wand with such fierceness and precision, that no one wanted to cross her. She hadn't been as tall and muscular, but it made her agile and fast, turning her into a worthy opponent. Clarisse worked her way up the career ladder with force, not letting anybody doubt her. Did she have to work a lot harder than if she were a man? Probably. Did it bother her? Sometimes. Especially when someone like Finley called her delicate and fragile, despite all the work she had put into becoming great.

"Thank you, Ludo," she said with a smile, allowing herself a moment of familiarity with her boss, something she hardly ever did.

The man looked pleased with her response and it made Clarisse relax completely. Knowing that her boss appreciated her enough to overlook some of her stunts made all the hard work worth it. She knew that if she decided to ignore his words regarding Finley, he would probably be forced to punish her somehow, but right now he sided with her and that made her relieved.

A comfortable silence settled between them, allowing Clarisse to retreat to her mind full of chaos. She felt incredibly eager to learn what the Forensics found, although she couldn't exactly call herself hopeful. The British Department had already investigated several murders and they came up empty handed. Riss knew better than to simply get her hopes up in a situation as bad as this one.

Deciding that thinking about it wasn't going to lead her to any new information, she shook her head and focused on different matters. How the hell was she going to work with Finley? Professionalism had always been one of her greatest traits and she had never expected to find herself in a situation such as this one.

Clarisse knew that swallowing her own pride will be difficult, but not impossible. She could forgive Aedan for calling her stupid, delicate, irresponsible and driven by emotions. But she really didn't think she had the strength to endure his looks full of contempt and superiority, just because she happened to be a woman.

Before she could have found a solution, her boss gestured her to walk into an elevator and said quietly:

"Stop thinking about Auror Finley. You two need to talk out your differences, simple as that."

"How did you know I was thinking about him?" she asked and raised her brows at her boss' amusement.

"Your face is red and you look like you're about to vomit."

"Funny," she snorted and smiled. "That's exactly what thinking about him makes me feel."

Her boss sighed and shook his head tiredly. The elevator door opened and Clarisse stepped outside, finding herself almost face to face with Herbert. Was he the only person working in that Department?

"Hello, Herbert," she greeted him and managed to smile politely, while the man stopped whatever he was doing to simply stare at her in awe.

"Um… Are you alright?" he finally asked, his face suddenly turning red.

She quirked her brow at him and said:

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You got my name right."

Well, he had every reason to be surprised at _that_.

"Oh," she said intelligently and scowled at her own brilliance. "Sorry, I'm terrible with names. I didn't want to mistake yours."

Deschamps snorted, clearly not believing a word she said. He wasn't going to comment on it, though, as he started to look at Herbert expectantly.

"Don't worry about it!" Herbert exclaimed brightly and clasped his hands together with excitement. "You're here about that murder, right?"

She nodded along with her boss and the Forensic Expert immediately rushed towards one of the many cabinets in the room. He took out a stash of colourful files and Clarisse frowned at the number of them. What the hell did they find?

"So…" Herbert started, but her boss raised his hand, stopping him.

"We need to wait for Auror Fabré," he said and looked at his pocket watch. "He's going to be here any minute now."

Clarisse wanted to slap herself as she realised that her temporary partner was supposed to get back from the UK today after she had left him there all alone, chasing a new clue that appeared after Finley presented her with the book. Of course, she hadn't left without saying her goodbyes, but her partner didn't look extremely happy about her departure.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence and Herbert's intense stare fixed at her person, the door to the elevator opened once again and Antoine Fabré walked into the room, looking as dashingly handsome as always, dressed in his usual sky blue sweater that matched his eyes perfectly and a pair of jeans tight in all the right places. Clarisse wanted to sigh with appreciation, but decided against it, knowing that the basement was hardly the best place for flirting with her superiors.

"Auror Fabré," Deschamps greeted the newcomer in a stern tone and Fabré inclined his head politely.

"Auror Deschamps. Auror Bouchard," he said and looked at her with a smirk gracing his face.

Good. That meant he wasn't mad at her. She smiled back at him and then turned her focus back to Herbert, who kept watching her with a worried expression. What was his deal, huh?

"What did you find?" her boss asked, not wasting any more time.

Herbert snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat. He started to trace his finger over one of the papers he took from the shelve, while they watched him expectantly. Finally, he sighed and smiled dreamily, making Clarisse furrow her brows. Those people gave her serious creeps sometimes…

"Our results are incredibly fascinating," he stated and nodded to himself. "We have managed to confirm, that he magical trace found on our crime scene matches those from the Great Britain."

That wasn't fascinating _at all_. Clarisse had seen way too many things during her career not to know that there was only one killer. The cuts had been nearly identical, made by those exact same hands. She was sure of it. Everything else would have been coincidental and Clarisse didn't really believe in such things as coincidences.

"Yes, we already know that," her boss seemed to share her thoughts on the matter, as he looked incredibly annoyed. "We're looking for one killer."

"Well…", Herbert smiled proudly. "That's not correct. Not entirely anyway."

Clarisse narrowed her eyes and felt her muscles tense. Didn't he just say that the magical trace had been _identical_?

"I'm not sure I follow," she muttered and the Forensic Expert fidgeted excitedly.

"You see… The magical trace is exactly like the one in previous crimes, but the DNA doesn't match. Not exactly anyway"

"The what?" she asked and Herbert sighed.

"DNA. Deoxyribonucleic acid."

"Thanks for clearing that up, mate," Fabré muttered and Clarisse snorted with amusement.

"Meaning, we need you to explain things a little better," she added and Herbert scratched his head, trying to find the right words.

"You probably know that we all have magic inside of us. It heals us from all the Muggle diseases and it gives us the abilities they don't possess. But one thing we have in common is the DNA. It's a molecule that basically determines who we are. It is, of course, much more complicated than that, but it provides all the information about our bodies, starting from their functions to the way we look. There's also a theory that in our case, it also determines how much magic we possess," he explained with excitement and Clarisse found herself deeply interested by the topic, which surprised her greatly. "It's only a theory, though. No one is able to find the exact sequence responsible for it. I think it's Untraceable."

How did he know all these things? She didn't even understand some of his words and he had already simplified his explanation. Maybe she shouldn't underestimate those people from the basement, no matter how weird it sounded.

"The thing about the DNA is, that it's unique for every single person. Some parts of it can be similar or even matching someone else's, but it only happens when those people are related in some way. And I don't mean related by marriage, but by blood."

Clarisse noticed that no one beside her seemed to be interested in that scientific lecture, so she offered Herbert an apologetic smile and said:

"Listen, Herbert. This is incredibly fascinating, but could you by any chance get to the bottom of it?"

"You find that fascinating?" he asked, completely ignoring her polite request and she couldn't help but notice the excitement glinting in his brown eyes.

She had a feeling that she had just walked into a trap of some sorts, but it was already too late to do anything about it.

"Um… Sure. Very interesting."

"I could tell you more about it!" he offered and took a step forward. "Over dinner, or coffee?"

Shit. What was she supposed to say now? She couldn't simply turn him down after she had admitted that his lecture had been quite interesting. Even she wasn't that bitchy… Fabré laughed quietly and tried to mask it with a cough, but Clarisse had known better than to believe his pathetic attempt. She glared at him for a moment and then smiled at Herbert, hoping that it didn't look completely forced.

"That sounds alright. But it's not a date," she said and Herbert opened his mouth in pure shock.

"Did you just… Did you just…"

"Yes, she agreed," her boss snapped and rubbed his forehead with annoyance. "Can we just get on with it?"

It took him a while, but Herbert had finally come to his senses, clearing his throat and sporting a rather adorable blush all over his face.

"As I was saying…" he started quietly and looked through his papers, trying to find his words again. "Oh, right! The DNA sample we found on our crime scene matches the ones from the UK. But only partially."

"Are you trying to say that we have more than one killer on the loose and that they are related by blood?" Fabré asked with doubt lacing his voice and Clarisse couldn't help but share his attitude.

"Yes. And no."

"We don't have all day, boy," Deschamps growled and tapped his foot against the marbled floor with impatience.

"Well… The magical traces found on various crime scenes are identical and that happens only in rare cases of twins. The DNA, however, rules out that possibility, as it simply isn't possible for our killers to be twins. Distant relatives perhaps, but nothing more," Herbert said and smiled proudly.

"I think I'm too stupid for that," Clarisse whispered to Fabré and he gave her an amused look.

"That date of yours is going to be splendid, Riss," he answered and she elbowed him in the ribs.

"We already have one riddle to solve. Could you please start making sense?"

Ludovic rubbed his forehead tiredly and Herbert sighed, his pride visibly deflating.

"I have never encountered a case like this one before. We don't usually check for the DNA, since magic doesn't lie. The magical trace is as unique as the DNA. If we manage to match it to a person, we simply assume that this is our killer. Having said all that, I am absolutely positive that right now, we are looking for more than one killer and that they are related in some way. Except they share the exact same kind of magic, which points, yet again, to only _one_ killer," he tried to explain once more and this time, Clarisse managed to follow his chain of thoughts.

"How is that possible, then? What are we dealing with?" she asked with her brows furrowed and Herbert opened his arms in a gesture full of defeat.

"I have no idea. We have searched the Archives, trying to find the answer, but there isn't one."

A silence full of tension settled into the room, as everyone tried to get a grasp on things coming out of Herbert's mouth. Deschamps seemed to be doing the worst job at it, as his face got red and he clearly wanted to strangle Herbert, judging by his clenched fists. The Forensic Expert must have noticed that as well, as he shifted nervously and swallowed hard.

"This is probably not the best moment to share the rest of our findings with you," he muttered.

"Speak," Deschamps ordered harshly, making Herbert flinch.

"Yes. We are kind of… Not sure, whether the DNA is even human," he stated and shook his head right after. "No, scratch that. The DNA is most certainly not human, but we seem to have problems determining its origins."

"Meaning what?" Fabre joined the conversation and Herbert offered him a reluctant look.

"Meaning, we have searched the entire database of the Magical Creatures for a matching DNA sample and we came up empty handed. There is no such creature."

Clarisse opened her mouth in shock and then closed it, realising she must have looked completely dumb. To be honest, she _felt_ completely dumb at that moment. Not only because she had to believe Herbert without actually being able to confirm his words in any way, but also because his answers had left her only with the sense of powerlessness, rather than enlightenment.

"Are you saying that we are looking for more than one killer, both of them being unknown Magical Creatures so intelligent that they had managed to inflict the wounds with an expert precision?" her boss asked quietly, his voice sounding completely depleted of all the energy.

"I cannot rule out that possibility," Herbert admitted and shrugged. "There is also a chance that the magical trace belongs to your real killer and the saliva comes from the creature. Well, multiple creatures, as the DNA…"

"Yes, we got that part," Fabré waved his hand dismissively and bit his lip. "The second theory seems more reasonable, but it still doesn't make it sound any less mysterious and… bonkers."

Clarisse agreed with him wholeheartedly, as she felt a shiver running down her spine, leaving her with the feeling of uneasiness. Something about this entire case made her feel hopeless and she didn't like that one bit.

"There is something else you should know."

Herbert's voice sounded in the air, making all three Aurors tense visibly. What else was going to make their job even harder?

"Usually, after a Witch or a Wizard dies, the magic inside their bodies slowly dissipates, but the process takes a really long time. If we find victims without even a trace of magic, we consider them Muggles, just as we did in our victim's case," he said and laid down his stack of papers, only to pick up a small package resting on top of the nearby table.

To everyone's surprise, the package contained a wand, maybe ten or eleven inches long. Clarisse felt her heart thump against her chest, when she realised what was going to come out of Herbert's mouth next.

"We wanted to make sure that the girl wasn't a part of our world, so we sent her picture to all the wandmakers in Paris. Analise Le Roux confirmed that she had sold that wand to our victim seventeen years ago. The girl's name was Flavienne Deniel. Her parents had already confirmed her identity. Our victim had most definitely been a witch. And yet, we found no traces of magic inside her body."

"I'm getting sick of that fucking case," Fabré hissed and clenched his fists. "Why didn't she have any magic inside her body?"

"We don't know. According to everything I learned, it's not even possible."

Clarisse took a sharp intake of breath, trying to calm her raging heart. She could deal with a lot of things. Death, blood, pain; she got used to all of it, making her think she had found the answers to all the questions that bugged her. But this? How could she find an answer to _that_? How could she explain the unexplainable?


	7. Chapter 7: The Meeting

How the hell did she get here? That question turned out to be even more baffling that she thought it would. Sitting in the small cafeteria should definitely qualify as incredibly pleasant, especially with its cosy interior full of light and flowers. It was truly romantic and girly and… And she hated every inch of it. Why couldn't he have taken her to a pub? Or even a plain diner? It would have made her feel as though she wasn't on a freaking _date_.

Clarisse looked across the table and noticed a slight blush on Herbert's face. She had to admit, he cleaned up pretty nice. At first, she had troubles recognizing him in that navy blue jacket, matched with a perfectly white shirt and light brown trousers, which made him look incredibly fashionable. Not that she knew a single thing about fashion. The only reason why she had even noticed his choice of clothing was the fact that she decided to wear the exact pair of tight leather trousers she wore to work _every day._ Merlin save her, she even put on a stupid Star Wars shirt, to blend into the crowd of a Muggle district.

This wasn't supposed to be a _date_. She had told him that, hadn't she?

"You look, um… You look nice. Very nice, yes," Herbert choked out after several minutes of deafening silence, disturbed only by the sounds of the coffee machine and cluttering dishes.

"I look exactly like every other day," she replied and slapped herself mentally.

If only Jacques could have seen her right now... He would be having such a blast watching that disaster.

"Yes, but… What I'm trying to say is…" he mumbled incoherently and she sighed, unable to take it anymore.

"Look. I feel incredibly stupid for coming here dressed like that, but I told you… This wasn't supposed to be a date."

Herbert lowered his gaze to the menu, smiling sadly. She would have to be a complete coldblooded wench not to feel sorry for him. Okay, he worked in the Forensics Department and he gave her creeps sometimes, but she couldn't say he was a bad guy. He seemed nice and cute in that nerdy, shy way. The only problem was, she hated nerdy and shy. She would have crashed him after a week of dating and he didn't deserve that.

"I just hoped that maybe… Maybe I could change your mind, you know," he finally said in a hushed tone that made her feel even worse. "I know that you don't want me, I'm not stupid. I just thought that maybe I can _make you_ want me."

Clarisse sighed and covered her eyes with her own palm. Why did he even like her? She was mean, arrogant and cold. For Merlin's sake, she was that kind of person who didn't even care to remember his _name_ and called him an idiot right to his face.

"The thing is, I'm not really worth your time, you know?" she finally said and faced him again. "Do you think I would be able to understand your scientific talk? Would your friends like me? Would you introduce me to your mother?"

Her questions had clearly made him baffled, as he opened his mouth and closed them a second later, not being able to find proper answers.

"That's what I thought," she smirked and sighed, leaning forward. "Don't waste your time on me. I know that people consider me to be tough, strong, and all kinds of stuff, but when it comes to love and such things… I'm nothing more than a disappointment."

"Why would you think so?" Herbert asked after a minute of silence and she snorted with amusement.

"I don't think I've ever been in a relationship. I mean, a serious one," she corrected and shrugged. "There's not many people who can stand me on daily basis."

"You seem pretty awesome to me," he protested, but she only laughed at his comment.

"Even if I didn't even bother to remember your name? Because, the truth is, I didn't even care enough to try."

Herbert scowled and she realised that her honesty probably wasn't the best idea.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I meant, Herbert," she muttered. "I'm not awesome. I'm probably more flawed than anyone realises. And a guy who is able to forgive a girl who constantly mistakes his name doesn't deserve that."

"But if you know about your flaws, why don't you try to change?"

"Because I don't give a shit," she snorted and shook her head. "Because I refuse to be perfect, just because everyone else seems to strive for it. As much as it is awful, I feel good about myself. I don't live in a bubble filled with constant need to be appreciated, to be admired. I had some shitty experiences in the past, I have my problems now… But all those things had turned me into the exact person I am right now. And if I have to hide who I really am, just because people will like me more… I'd rather be alone."

Her honesty felt almost too weird to be true. Since when did she share such confessions with people she didn't even like all that much? Maybe something about that adorable innocence forced her to act like a normal, open person for once? Whatever it was, it made her feel slightly anxious, embarrassed even. Clarisse looked away from his silhouette and grabbed her coffee that had gone cold and nasty. Still, she drank it just to avert her attention from Herbert, who kept looking at her in awe, making her even more flustered.

"For someone who doesn't give a shit, you really had thought everything through," he finally managed to say and she almost choked on her coffee.

"I didn't have to think it through. I simply know it."

An awkward silence filled the air once more and Clarisse shut her eyes with annoyance. What was she thinking? Oh, that's right. She _wasn't_. At least not when she had agreed to meet with him, even if she had known better all along. She just had to decide to be _nice,_ just this once. Bloody hell…

"Jacques gets it, doesn't he?" Herbert asked and she opened her eyes, facing him with a surprised expression on her face.

No, scratch that, it wasn't surprised. It was completely baffled. What did he know about her friendship with Jacques, huh? Did he stalk her?

"Gets what? That I don't fancy the idea of sucking up to people? Um, yeah. He's my partner, he kind of noticed," she snorted and Herbert smiled with embarrassment.

Merlin, she was such a bitch sometimes…

"He gets _you_. All of you."

Clarisse opened her mouth and then closed it, feeling quite at loss for words. She could have just pretended she didn't know what he was on about, but that would be plain stupid, so she decided against it. However, telling Herbert about her friendship with Jacques felt even more ridiculous, so her options were limited to… well, none.

"He's my partner," she finally said and shook her head. "We've saved each other's lives, we've bled together. It changes everything."

"Is that what it takes to get through to you? If someone is willing to die for you… Is that what makes people worthy of you?"

Herbert simply smiled gently and then rubbed his forehead with abashment.

"I don't know what I was thinking, to be honest. I kind of hoped that maybe I would be able to get through to you… I mean, to the real you. Because it doesn't matter how much you believe you're this cold and bitchy person, it's not true. Your friendship with Jacques proves that," he said and stood up, never tearing his gaze away from her face. "I really hope you'll realise that someday, because to be honest… I never liked that strong and tough Clarisse. I liked the one I was seeing underneath that shell."

And with that, he left, not even bothering to say proper goodbyes. She felt utterly stupid, sitting in that ridiculous romantic cafeteria all alone with nothing but chaos in her mind. Riss wasn't lying; she really felt good about herself. But did it mean that Herbert couldn't have been right?

Bloody hell, hadn't she had enough problems already? Now was hardly the time to start questioning her own personality. She had a murder to solve, an impossible one at that. Shouldn't she focus on that, rather than wasting time on…

"I can't believe you agreed to go out with someone like _that_ ," a voice interrupted her internal musings and she closed her eyes, praying so that it would turn out to be a simple hallucination.

"Tell me you're not actually here," she muttered and opened her eyes when an amused snort came in a reply.

"That would mean you spend your free time fantasising about me and the idea revolts me."

How she hated that bloody git. What was he even doing here? Last time she checked, Paris was an Irishman-free zone, with no such idiots as Aedan Finley to bother her already troubled mind.

"Oh, trust me. You'd have to look at yourself through my own eyes to understand the true meaning of the word 'revolting'," she said and turned her head, only to see that he stood near the bar, leaning on the counter lazily and smirking.

Right away, she felt the urge to wipe that stupid smile off of his face. Or maybe she could slosh him with that nasty, cold coffee in her mug? Before she could decide, the douchebag opened his mouth and spoke:

"I've heard you're having troubles translating that book you took away from me right before you stunned me."

His vicious tone made her narrow her eyes and she chose to simply ignore him. Maybe he would simply go away if she treated him like a ghost? Except she had actually talked to ghosts sometimes… She also couldn't treat him like the air, since she actually needed it to survive. Blimey, this was difficult.

"I'm not having troubles. I just don't want someone to screw this up," she finally said with pride lacing her voice, to Finley's amusement.

"Oh and here I was, thinking that you knew someone who could do it perfectly," he said and rubbed his chin with thoughtfulness. "I mean, why else would you simply take the book from me? That would be really weird."

She crushed him with a glare and returned to thinking about different ways to hurt him. Maybe she could grab that ridiculous vase standing in front of her and crash it at the top of his head? At least she wouldn't have to look at that stupid flower inside of it. It would look better in Finley's hair anyway.

"I'm working on it, that's the only thing that should interest you," she finally muttered and scowled, knowing that hurting the Irishman was not an actual option.

Her boss would have handed her ass back to her if he knew Riss was even thinking about doing it.

"I was actually willing to give you more time, but I don't think it's possible anymore."

Clarisse heard his footsteps nearing her table and she reluctantly looked up to see his silhouette towering over her. She raised her eyebrows expectedly and simply stared, waiting for him to elaborate on his statement. That bloody git just smirked, not wanting to give in so easily, so she sighed with annoyance and said:

"And why is that?"

"There's been another murder, I'm afraid."

Her whole body tensed, as she realised that he hadn't been joking. Actually, his expression went from amused to serious in a blink of an eye and she cursed under her breath, her mood getting even worse than before.

"Where?"

To her surprise, Finley stepped to the left and gestured towards one of the huge windows taking up almost the entire surface of one of the walls. She glanced outside and opened her mouth in disbelief. Even from such distance, it wasn't difficult to spot a lot of Muggle policemen walking around, securing the perimeter of the crime scene and a crowd of people who wanted to find out what had happened.

"You're not particularly observant, are you?" the man said and this time, she couldn't stop herself from clenching her fists, while she stared him down. "One could think that you might have been able to spot a crime scene from such a distance, but it turns out that…"

"Shut it," she said, interrupting him before he could have finished his sentence. "I don't fancy the idea of having to work with a _sexist jerk_ , but I'm not going to throw away my career just because of your stupidity. So instead of pissing me off, let's get to work, shall we?"

With that, she stood up and drank the rest of her coffee, leaving some money on the table as a tip for the waitress.

"Have a nice day," she said to her and left the cafeteria like a raging storm.

* * *

As soon as she had crossed the street, she started to look around in order to find her boss. To her surprise, Deschamps wasn't alone as he stood over a body talking to no one else, but Harry Potter. Clarisse couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline shooting through her entire body and decided that there was no time to waste.

She hurried over to her boss, not even bothering to check if Finley followed her. Honestly, she couldn't care less for that baboon. With a scowl, she reached her destination and said:

"Auror Potter, Auror Deschamps."

The first one offered her a gentle smile, while her boss looked at her with amusement.

"I take it your date didn't go too well, huh?"

He gestured towards Herbert, who was standing on the other side of the crime scene, talking to Auror Ashworth.

It certainly seemed as though everyone from their little international team was here. Everyone except from Fabre.

"Uh, yeah. Where's Antoine?" she asked, completely dismissing her boss' question about that feral meeting with the Forensic Expert.

"Hell if I know," Ludovic said with annoyance and Clarisse raised her eyebrows with amusement. "I sent for him twenty minutes ago and he's still…"

At this moment, Fabre started to make his way through the crowd, looking positively… well, wasted. Riss smiled brilliantly, watching his figure approach them. Even the fact that Finley decided to finally join them couldn't spoil her suddenly great mood.

"Auror Potter, Auror Deschamps, Auror Finley," Antoine greeted everyone apart from her, as he must have noticed her grin full of amusement.

"Hello, Antoine, nice to see you too. You look dashing today. Mm, and that smell! I almost mistook you for a distillery," she chirped happily and everyone except for Fabre snorted at her words.

Clarisse was incredibly surprised that Finley decided to appreciate her little joke as well, but she discarded it as a temporary lack of judgement on his part.

"Shut up, Riss. Shall I remind you of the last time you came to work completely hungover?" he replied and the woman rolled her eyes.

"You what?" Deschamps asked in a very angry tone and she was forced to glare at Fabre for getting her in trouble.

To everyone's surprise, Harry Potter giggled and the attention switched to him, as he cleared his throat with a slight hue of pink covering his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, it's just… Um… You know."

Her boss offered the younger Auror a look full of disapproval and shook his head.

"Why don't we simply focus on our victim here?"

Everyone nodded and started to examine the body, but Clarisse couldn't stop smiling wickedly, as she noticed Fabre's scrunched up nose. Apparently, dead people didn't mix well with hangovers.

"Why wasn't I invited to the party?" she whispered to him and he gave her an annoyed look.

"I didn't want to spoil your date with Herbert," her colleague said with a vicious smile and Riss stopped smiling almost instantly.

"It wasn't a date. I think I have finally managed to scare him off for good."

"All it took was one meeting one on one, huh?" the man snorted and smirked. "At least it confirmed my theory that you're a hag."

She stomped on his foot with force, as he groaned out in pain switching everyone's attention back to them. Clarisse smiled sweetly and gestured towards the body lying in the pool of blood, matching the killer's modus operandi from his previous murders.

"I guess it's our man again, huh?" she said and everyone nodded grimly.

"Everything matches. The victim's young, seemingly healthy. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising… Apart from those two wounds on her neck, there's nothing wrong with her," Finley explained and Clarisse snorted.

"Except from her being dead, that is," she clarified with a smirk, earning herself a glare from the Irishman and another giggle from Potter.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Clarisse," Aedan shook his head with annoyance and she shrugged.

"No problem, Aedan. I thought you might have needed it."

"Will you stop it?!" her boss shouted and rubbed his forehead. "This cooperation was supposed to _help,_ not be a pain in the arse."

At that moment, Mark Ashworth decided to join them, smiling widely. To Clarisse's surprise, he looked right at her and it became clear that his little talk with Herbert couldn't have been strictly professional.

"Hello everyone," he greeted them cheerfully, while Riss' gaze travelled to Herbert involuntarily.

The Forensic Expert was staring at her with a sad smile and she realised that from his perspective, her behaviour must have looked completely disrespectful. Their meeting had ended on a rather bad note and here she was, joking around and laughing. Not to mention that technically they were all standing over a dead body. Jokes and light-headedness were quite inappropriate in a situation like this one.

"Did you learn anything?" Deschamps asked right away, not caring to reply to Ashworth's polite greeting.

"Oh, yes," the Englishman chuckled in response, his gaze still fixed on Clarisse, to everyone's amusement.

Simply great. She had just become an internal joke.

"I meant the crime, Auror Ashworth," her boss said in a stern tone, making Clarisse incredibly grateful.

Not that she would ever admit to that, especially not with Finley standing right next to her and grinning like a baboon.

"By the looks of it, nothing changed. Herbert confirmed that the killer must have used the exact same knife to cut the victim's neck and the magical trace is identical to every other crime scene. I don't think we can learn anything new out here," he shook his head slowly, as his smile faltered a bit.

Clarisse looked at the woman on the ground and frowned. Why couldn't the killer simply make a mistake? It didn't even have to be big. They had a great team, even something small would have sufficed. She crouched down, staring at those two neat cuts as a nauseating feeling rushed through her body, forcing her to shiver.

She didn't even know why she chose to extend her hand towards the wound but as soon as she did, she felt as though someone knocked the breath out of her lungs with a very powerful, evil spell. Clarisse gasped and jerked her hand back, making everyone stare at her with baffled expressions.

"What is it, Riss?" Fabre asked and lowered himself to her position, trying to find a source of her sudden reaction.

"I… I don't know," she said in response and frowned, not being able to stop the nauseous feeling still coursing through her body.

"I just got a bad feeling, is all," she mumbled more to herself, than everyone else and it made them even more suspicious.

Clarisse stood up rapidly and drew in a deep breath as the nauseating feeling finally left her body. She took a step back from the victim and frowned, not being able to find even one explanation for anything that happened in those last couple of minutes.

Suddenly, a memory of her mother's dark eyes appeared in her mind and she shivered, as her hand travelled to the Merlinite resting safely between her breasts. She had never been one to act all crazy and psychic, but … Clarisse had a suspicion that she just learned what her mother had been talking about. And she didn't like it one bit.


	8. Chapter 8: The Nightmare

Clarisse squinted hard, trying to see anything in her surroundings, but it turned out to be completely impossible. A thick mist floated in the air, making her feel as though she was submerged in a milky cloud of smoke. She lifted her hand and waved it back and forth, wanting to clear the air, but her tactics brought no results and she sighed with annoyance.

Frowning, she took a step forward only to see that nothing seemed to change, even if the mist started swirling around her in various patterns.

"Hello?" she called out, but no one answered.

How could they, if her voice came out in nothing, but a mere whisper? She tried again, this time taking a deep breath beforehand. As the shout escaped her mouth, it got sucked into the void, just like her previous call.

What was this place? How did she get here? And, most importantly, how could she get out? Those questions appeared in her fuzzy mind at once and she decided that standing in one place wasn't going to provide her with any answers. Slowly, Clarisse placed one foot in front of the other, moving forward at a leisurely pace.

It took a couple of minutes of a steady march to determine that the surface underneath her feet resembled cobblestones, but it was the only information she managed to obtain. She still had no clues as to her whereabouts and she started to worry. The mist refused to thin or, even better, to disperse completely, showing her the way to… well, somewhere. Was she even moving forward?

Just like that, an image of her wand popped into her mind and she started to search her pockets. A couple of seconds later, she came up empty handed, as her precious wand was nowhere to be seen. Clarisse's frown deepened, as she realised that apparently she had managed to walk out of her house without the most important object a witch could ever possess.

"How did that happen?" she muttered to no one in particular and stopped as a sudden chill ran through her body.

The mist seemed to shift more intensely, although she had stopped moving completely, simply watching that unusual phenomenon. It spiralled around her, hugging her body so closely, that Clarisse could almost feel the slight pressure tickling her skin, like the most delicate feather.

Just like that, it started to float towards the sky, revealing more and more of her surroundings and she couldn't do anything else, but stare in pure shock at five different cathedrals towering over her tiny person. She recognized each of these buildings, as she had spent a proper amount of time staring at them in the pictures or during inspections of the crime scenes.

She had found herself right in the middle of an empty courtyard, with not a soul to be seen. Clarisse turned around and noticed that the path, which led her to this square had disappeared, its place taken by one of the churches.

"What on Earth…" she whispered and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, as she felt tiny droplets of sweat starting to gather on her skin.

Was she scared? _Should_ she be scared? Before she could have answered either of these questions, all of the doors opened at once, startling her with their squeaky noises and loud shuffling. Her heart started to race inside of her chest, as she spun around, noticing five shadowy figures that emerged from the insides of each church, staring at her with their hollow eyes. They were perfectly visible and yet, she found herself unable to make out their faces.

Suddenly, that familiar wave of nausea hit her body and she dropped to her knees, struggling to draw in another breath. She was suffocating, although nothing seemed to be out of order. The figures started to move towards her and the feeling intensified, leaving her dizzy and unable to fight for her consciousness. Her vision grew darker and darker, until…

"Clarisse!" a loud yell forced her to open her eyes and jump to her feet immediately, breathing as though she had just run a marathon.

She looked around, grasping her wand with her trembling hand, but when she had finally spotted Jacques who stood near the door to her bedroom, she realised that she must have been dreaming. The relief washing over her body was so great, that Clarisse wasn't able to keep a straight face and allowed herself to fall down to her bed and let out a trembling breath.

Jacques' footsteps sounded in the room, as he decided to come near her and make sure she was okay, but he clearly hesitated as soon as he had reached her bed. After a moment of stillness, he lowered himself onto the mattress, putting his warm hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly and she had no troubles spotting worry in his voice.

"I'm fine," she said and forced herself to face him. "It was just a dream."

"One helluva dream, if you're asking me."

"It was…" she started and furrowed her brows as no words seemed fitting to describe the scene she had just witnessed. "I have no idea what it was."

"Since when are you having nightmares?"

Jacques' question made her scowl in response, but her friend wasn't going to let her simply ignore him. He looked at her expectantly and Clarisse felt obliged to offer him a proper answer.

"Few days, I guess. Ever since I returned from that last crime scene."

Of course, she hadn't told anyone about her unusual sensations, but Jacques knew her well enough to figure out that something must have gone wrong. His visit to her modest household proved it.

"Why are you here?" she asked with a frown and he sighed.

"You took a day off, Clarisse," he said. "You never take a day off."

She scowled, knowing that her friend was completely right. She loved her work way too much to even feel the need to escape it from time to time. Unfortunately, even such a workaholic as herself couldn't go days without sleep and the nightmares that were plaguing her made it impossible to get a decent rest.

"I'm just tired. It happens sometimes, right?" she shrugged noncommittally and Jacques shook his head.

"Don't give me that shit. You better start talking, or I will have to force the truth out of you," he said and Clarisse realised that there was simply no way for her to get out of this situation.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes, trying to get them to stop stinging from the lack of sleep, but her effort turned out to be futile.

"Um… You see, I kind of lied when I have told you that my mother wasn't able to translate the book," she started and Jacques gritted his teeth, his usually cheerful face turning completely serious. "She just refused to translate it. Said the book was evil and that I should drop the case altogether."

"Clarisse…" her friend sighed with exasperation and she shrugged once more.

"You know my mother. She's as crazy as they get. But… Something happened when she was about to touch the book. Her eyes went completely black for a moment and then the darkness disappeared. My mother freaked out and told me to drop the case. But not before she gave me this."

Clarisse reached for the necklace hidden underneath her shirt and felt her fingers touch its cool surface. The Merlinite rested between her breasts most of the time, but it never got warm, almost as if it sucked out all of the positive energy out of her body. She pretended not to notice that peculiar fact, but it got harder and harder, the more she stared at it.

The stone looked exactly like every other day; its white surface was covered with many black veins that created an interesting pattern. It didn't shine, it wasn't particularly pretty; and yet her eyes were drawn to it every single time. That necklace gave her creeps, to say the least.

"A necklace? Since when are you wearing jewellery?" Jacques asked with his brows furrowed and Clarisse scowled.

"I don't know. I guess I thought that… If there was even a slight chance of my mother being right, it wouldn't be a bad idea to protect myself."

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because it's stupid, that's why!" she exclaimed and shook her head. "I'm Clarisse Bouchard, for fuck's sake, I don't believe in such bullshit!"

"Then why are you wearing it?"

She fell silent and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs and staring at the floor with fury. He had an excellent point, not that it surprised her. Jacques had always been able to sense her feelings and doubts. She didn't even know why, but their friendship was that one relationship in her entire life that seemed natural. They had always understood each other, without even trying to do so.

It didn't surprise her that he was able to tell that she wasn't making any sense. Still, it didn't mean she had to _like it_.

"You don't know what it was like…" she muttered and forced herself to dive into her memories once more. "You know it's hard to scare me, but that… That was pretty scary, alright?"

"Alright."

His soft reply made her feel tad better, but even still, embarrassment kept flowing through her body in steady waves. She forced herself to look up, only to meet his own gaze that was filled with nothing, but worry. He had no intentions of mocking her, or even undermine her story. He accepted it, just as he always did.

"I started wearing it and I kind of forgot that it was even there. Everything was fine, until that last murder."

"What happened in there?"

"I crouched down next to the body and suddenly I felt that nauseating feeling wash over my entire body. It was almost as if something evil has hit me, making me unable to breathe," she muttered, averting her gaze, as goose bumps prickled her skin. "Ever since that day, I'm having troubles sleeping."

Jacques stared at her for a moment and reached towards her face, tilting her chin so that she faced him. His warm, brown eyes captured her own and she felt all of her defences go down instantly.

"These nightmares… They are always the same. Sometimes I manage to wake myself up and sometimes…" her voice broke, as she remembered that feeling of being suffocated by an invisible force.

"Do you want to show me?" her friend whispered and she nodded after a moment of hesitation.

He smiled gently and allowed her to turn around, so that she was facing him entirely. Jacques cupped her face in both of his hands and muttered an incantation, slowly slithering into her mind. She closed her eyes and focused her attention on finding the memory of her dream, which turned out incredibly easy. Her whole body tensed, when she had found herself in a familiar scene. Honestly, she could have simply talked him through her nightmares, as she had gotten to know them as well as her own name. Still, it was easier to simply let him see for himself, hoping that maybe he would be able to spot something that escaped her attention.

It took a couple of minutes for him to relieve the entire dream and as soon as he got near to that part, where she dropped down to her knees, struggling to catch a breath, Clarisse pushed him out of her mind, not wanting him to watch her powerlessness. She opened her eyes and looked straight into his brown irises.

"What the hell…" he muttered after a moment, trying to even his own breathing.

She smiled crookedly, understanding his reaction completely. Every nightmare left her with that exact feeling of utter misapprehension she was now seeing all over his face. It made her feel a little better, but… Not by much.

Silence enveloped the entire room, as both of them got sucked into their minds, trying to come up with a plausible explanation to this story. Clarisse doubted that Jacques would be able to shed some new light on it, but either way, she let him come to that exact conclusion on his own.

Riss looked at him and bit the inside of her cheek. It was weird seeing him all serious, after getting used to staring at his smile for the most part of each day. His sunny disposition posed such a strong contradiction to her usual demeanour, that she often wondered how the hell did they manage to become such good friends.

She remembered their first meeting as it was yesterday. Not that it was spectacular in any way. It was just hard to forget her first day at the Bureau after she had finished her Auror Training. She had felt so empowered back then, so invincible… Jacques was the one, who made her realise that she had found herself at the bottom of the food chain. Everyone kept treating her like a secretary and he was the only one who refused to do that. That single fact said a lot about his personality. Always smiling, always cheerful, always… Always there for her.

Clarisse averted her gaze, as she felt heat crawling up her cheeks. She bloody hated him sometimes, as he was probably the only person in the entire world who could make her think such things, turning her into a blushing mess. She would never admit it out loud, but Herbert was right when he said that she was different with Jacques. She didn't like it, but there was no denying that fact, at least not within the safe walls of her mind.

"Riss…" Jacques spoke, forcing her to look back at him, hoping that her blush had already subsided. "I think you should talk to your mother."

Oh, hell no! There was no way she could simply go to her house and admit to being _wrong_. Her mother would probably never stop gloating. Clarisse could almost hear her satisfied voice, cooing that her daughter was a Seer, or something equally ridiculous.

"Jacques, I know I'm sleep deprived, but I think I would have to be half-dead to agree to something like that," she informed him and he rolled his eyes in response.

"You're going to be half-dead sooner rather than later, Riss. Your body needs sleep and you're not going to get much, if you keep having these nightmares. You need answers, Riss."

"Yeah, I do. Trust me, though, my mother is the worst person to answer _any_ questions. She keeps talking in riddles, thinking that everyone understands her just fine, while she's not making any sense at all most of the time," she shook her head and Jacques smiled with amusement.

"You can be just like her, Clarisse," he said and she frowned. "When you dive into your own thoughts, trying to solve a case, you keep muttering to yourself and talking nonsense that leaves everyone completely clueless."

"That's not even remotely similar," she protested, but Jacques just kept smiling knowingly. "I have a very complicated thought process, while she's just… You know."

She waved her hand dismissively, but it did nothing to convince him.

"Why are you so afraid to talk to her?"

Okay, so now he was simply making things up. Clarisse's mother might have been completely bonkers, but she wasn't exactly scary. Besides, she was her _mother_. There wasn't even a small chance that she would hurt her own daughter.

"I'm not afraid, Jacques. You can't suggest that my mother is dangerous, can you?"

"That's not what I mean. I've met Eugenia and she's a charming woman, hardly aggressive. To be honest, you're much more unstable than her. You have serious anger management issues," he said and grinned at her, while she clenched her fists in anger.

Did he really have to bring that up? Wasn't she feeling terrible enough?

"My anger management issues are the consequence of having to deal with idiots on daily basis."

"Thank you, sweetheart. From your mouth, it's almost a compliment," he rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. "You know what I meant, Clarisse, don't act dumb."

Okay, so maybe she _did_ know. She had already gone through every explanation that was based solely on logic and well… They didn't seem all that likely. Her mother would undoubtedly provide her with something more fitting, but Clarisse didn't really know if she wanted to hear any of it.

"I can't, Jacques," she finally said and looked down to her hands. "I've spent my entire life trying to convince her that she was wrong about me. I'm not a Seer, or whatever she wants me to be. I can't just walk up to her and admit that I'm not… Not normal."

"Clarisse, I have known you for quite some time now and I have never thought that you're _normal_. It takes one extraordinary person to be a part of an international team at the age of 25, you know," he smiled and lifted her chin, so that she was looking at him yet again. "You're nothing but special. Maybe it's time you've embraced every part of it?"

Just the mere thought of that made her heart race. She was an Auror, for Merlin's sake. A great Auror, who walked the Earth with confidence and a very defined set of rules and beliefs. Her entire life had been a struggle between finding peace with her mother and doing what she had always wanted to do. She had made a choice a long time ago and she had never regretted it, not even for a minute. How was she supposed to change it now, after such a long time?

"It's going to be alright, Clarisse." Jacques' silent voice reached her ears, forcing her to come back to reality.

He stared at her with a gentle smile, which somehow got her feeling incredibly timid. Something about his eyes seemed different. Maybe she was just seeing things? Maybe her sleep deprived mind was just playing tricks on her?

"You're not your mother. Even if she is right, you're not going to suddenly become a different person. Merlin knows that there's not a thing that could force you to change."

Suddenly, his gaze dropped down to her lips and she stopped breathing, not knowing what do to. Clarisse had been in that situation before, maybe not with Jacques, but with many others. She had always let those man kiss her, not caring enough to try and stop them, but now… He was her friend. Her _best friend_. Why was he trying to spoil everything?

Or maybe he wasn't trying to do so? Maybe it was the right thing to do? Herbert had said it after all, Jacques _got her_. If there was even a slight chance for her to be in a normal relationship, he was probably her best shot at it. He didn't want to change her, he accepted every part of her, even if that meant having to endure her constant whining and bitching about bullshit.

Before she could have decided, he cleared his throat and averted his gaze with a slight frown gracing his handsome face. Clarisse let out a shaky breath, trying to determine whether she was more relieved or disappointed.

"Talk to her, Riss. You can't avoid your fears forever. Just face them and maybe you'll like the outcome more than you think," he said, his voice not betraying any signs of the tension that was tainting the air just a minute ago.

"Fine," she managed to say and offered him a tight smile.

He ruffled her hair and stood up, preparing himself to leave her room.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I think I've found someone who can translate that book of yours. He's willing to come to Paris to have a look at it."

Clarisse stifled in her surprise at the fact, that Jacques took care of one of her nightmares and said:

"Where did you find him?"

"In the UK, actually. He works at one of the bookstores. Blourish and Flotts? No, wait…"

"Flourish and Blotts," she offered and frowned, when an unexpected thought popped into her head. "Did he say what his name was?"

"Of course. His name is Corrick Leighton."

Clarisse blinked a couple of times and then chuckled with amusement.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"Do you know him?"

Riss scratched her head and sighed.

"You could say that. We've met when I was in England."

"Oh!" Jacques exclaimed and grinned at her. "Look at how small the world can be!"

"Um, yeah… Out of all the people on Earth, the one person who is able to translate that book is also the biggest blabber I know," Clarisse moaned in despair, while Jacques looked at her with sheer amusement.

"Clarie… I don't think he can beat you in that matter."

"You know nothing, Jacques Colbert," she replied and nodded her head reassuringly. "Absolutely nothing."


	9. Chapter 9: The Insomnia

The room was filled with an awkward silence, disturbed only by the sound of her fingers tapping against a mahogany table. Clarisse didn't even know why was everyone forced to be here, but the tension filling the air made her feel as though she got stuck in a tiny can with a bunch of stinky fish. She knew that translating the book had been crucial, but she was more than prepared to deal with it on her own. In _private._

There was no way of telling if Mr Corrick Leighton would be able to translate the damned book on the spot, which made her doubts even more serious. What if translating it would require a bunch of other ancient books, which the French Ministry _obviously_ didn't possess? She could see _literally_ no point in awaiting Leighton's arrival in that stuffy conference room, with Aedan's annoyed gaze fixed on her, with Mark's broad smile mocking her irritation and with Harry's chocolate frogs jumping around. Her boss didn't make things any better, as he kept muttering to himself from time to time, gracing all of them with annoyed glances, followed by even more muttering. Fabre was nowhere to be seen, yet again, but this time he had a very good reason. Apparently, France had more than one killer on the loose.

"Could you please stop doing that?!" Finley spat angrily, looking at her drumming fingers and Clarisse smirked.

"No," she replied and kept tapping her fingernails against the smooth surface of the table.

"Do you want me to _stun you_?"

"No, I want you to shut up." Her voice was sweet and innocent, but it didn't seem to fool anyone.

"One more word and both of you are going to be stunned," Deschamps growled and looked towards Potter, who seemed genuinely amused by everything that was happening in the room. "Auror Potter certainly agrees with me."

Harry looked around and cleared his throat, his smile gone in a blink of an eye.

"Oh, absolutely. It's very immature. You should stop with all the bickering, it's not helping our case at all."

Clarisse stopped drumming her finger, leaning on her elbow instead. Her gaze was fixed on Potter, while her mind tried to get a hold of his words. That man… He was nothing like she expected him to be and it made her even more curious about his actual skills. If she hadn't known any better, she'd say that Harry Potter was clumsy, awkward and well… quite adorable in his shyness. Was he even real? How did he manage to defeat Voldemort acting like _that_?

"Did you seriously kill Voldemort?" she blurted out before she could stop herself and her boss covered his eyes with his palm, clearly distraught by her stupid question.

"Um… yes?" Harry's reply came in a question and Clarisse frowned.

"How? Did you poison him with a chocolate frog?"

Okay, sleep deprivation really wasn't a good thing. She couldn't even tell why the hell would she ask something that ridiculous, but there was no going back, even after she realised how stupid she sounded.

"No, I kind of duelled him and won," Potter said, blushing a bit.

How old was he? Ten?

"That's very impressive," she said and her gaze flicked to one of the chocolate frogs lying on the table. "Can I have one of those?"

Harry nodded, looking at her with amusement, while Mark giggled lightly. Why were they laughing at her? Potter ate a bunch of those sweets and no one had a problem with that. She shrugged it off and captured one of the frogs.

"Blimey, that's good," she muttered with her mouth full and Aedan snorted, clearly disgusted. "And your problem is…?"

"Clarisse!" her boss growled and she glanced at him with raised brows. "Are you drunk?!"

She blinked a couple of times and looked at the package with another frog inside.

"Why? Are they _spiked?_ "

As soon as she closed her mouth, her boss stood up and took out his wand, waving it in her direction a couple of times. She frowned, not knowing what to do. Was she supposed to defend herself?

"Clarisse…" Ludovic's moan sounded in to room, as he sat down with disbelief shining in his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?" he asked and she bit the inside of her cheek.

Oh, so he was _diagnosing_ her. That was a relief.

"Today," she lied with a smile and he sent her an angry look. "Or was it yesterday?"

Deschamps kept glaring at her, making her realise that she won't lie her way out of this.

"Fine. I don't really know. I think I developed some kind of an insomnia."

"You think?" Aedan asked, surprising her with his unusually worried tone. "Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

Clarisse scowled and opened another frog, stuffing her mouth with it, before it was able to escape its package. She hoped that her temporary inability to speak would shift everyone's attention elsewhere, but it turned out that her fuzzy mind was wrong once again.

What was she supposed to say? She was having unexplainable nightmares every time she closed her eyes and even the Sleeping Draught didn't help. The Mediwizards would simply call her crazy, and what was even worse, they would tell her _mother_.

"I'm fine, really," she shrugged and everyone sighed simultaneously.

"No, you're not," Potter said quietly and looked at her with worry in his emerald green eyes. Were they always so _pretty?_ "I know what's it like… I had a fair share of insomniac nights in my life. You're anything but fine."

His voice sounded completely different from his usual cheerful tone. For the first time since she had met him, she started to understand that he really was _that_ war hero. Maybe Clarisse wasn't able to pretend to be happy and positive all the time, but she worked with Jacques on daily basis. He was her source of good energy, keeping her sane. Maybe Potter simply decided to be that source for everyone else? Maybe he wanted people to associate him with someone bright and cheerful, even if a little weird, rather than with a scarred war hero?

"You should go home," Ashworth agreed and smiled gently. "Watching you is quite amusing, I admit, but you're not going to be very helpful in that state. I can go with you if you'd like," he offered and Clarisse looked down to her fingers, which were now covered in chocolate.

She didn't want to go home. It meant nothing else but lying in her bed, praying not to fall asleep, as those terrifying scenes kept playing over and over in her tired brain.

Suddenly, she felt someone's presence in her mind and she looked up to see Finley staring at her intensely. Clarisse didn't even know why, but she let him slip through her weak barriers. Maybe she didn't have the strength to fight? Maybe she simply didn't care enough to stop him.

After a moment, he broke the eye contact and shook his head.

"I'll go with her," he said, surprising everyone once again. "I know nothing about Ancient Greek, so I'm not going to be of any help as well. I'll put her to bed and I'll come back."

"Do it," Clarisse's boss ordered in a stern tone, not letting her speak.

"But…" she tried to protest, but no one wanted to listen to her.

"That's final, Clarisse. I won't let you work in that state. It's not only dangerous for our case, but mostly for _you_." Deschamps clearly had no intentions of changing his mind, so she scowled and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, anger boiling within her body.

"Come on," Finley muttered and grabbed her elbow, forcing her to stand.

"I'm not disabled," she hissed and pulled her limb out of his grasp.

She stormed out of the room, not bothering to say her goodbyes. People described her as mean, stubborn and sometimes a bit arrogant. Even still, they never called her _stupid_. Clarisse had a reason to show up at work. Why couldn't they respect that?!

"Stop acting like a child." Finley's voice reached her ears and she stopped abruptly, causing him to almost bump into her.

"I'm not. I just can't go back home!"

"Because of the nightmares?" he asked, his tone quiet and she looked away, shame visible on her face.

"Why do you even care?"

Aedan snorted and shook his head with amusement.

"I said I didn't think women are tough enough to work as Aurors. Forgive me for saying this, but the way you're behaving right now seems to prove my point," he said and sighed loudly. "I never said that I don't have a heart though. I don't get off from someone else's misfortune."

Okay, that was _shocking_. She honestly didn't think that the man standing in front of her even had a heart. He called her names, he kept mocking her every chance he got, he… He was simply infuriating. What was he playing at?

"Funny thing, it certainly seemed so," she scoffed and crossed her arms at her chest. "After all the nasty stuff you've said to me, I'm surprised that you even know what it's like to act _decent._ "

"Clarisse, shall I remind you that you returned the favour completely?" he asked and quirked his eyebrow. "You're equally nasty and I still think you're a hag. It doesn't mean I enjoy your suffering."

She was sure that if it hadn't been for her lack of sleep, she would have found something clever to say in response. But, unfortunately, her mind refused to cooperate, so she stood there in silence, avoiding his gaze completely.

"Come on. We can talk once we're at your house," Aedan finally broke the silence and placed his hand on her shoulder, pushing her to go forward.

At that exact moment, Jacques appeared at the corridor with Mr Leighton walking right next to him. Clarisse didn't need to be well rested to see, that her friend looked completely baffled by her sudden proximity to Finley, after she had spent hours bitching about him.

She didn't even know why she felt so ashamed by this entire situation. It wasn't like Finley had done something _intimate._ He had just pushed her forward. Besides, even if he did something intimate, why should she be worried about it? Jacques was only her friend, nothing more. That one single moment of weakness they shared didn't prove a thing.

"Riss!" her friend greeted her with a weird smile. "What are you doing here?"

It didn't escape her attention that he forgot to acknowledge Finley's presence and the Irishman seemed equally disturbed by it.

"Um… I'm not feeling well. I think I'm coming down with something," she lied through her teeth and forced a smile, hoping that Finley would keep his mouth shut.

"You don't look so well, Auror Bouchard. You should take better care of yourself," Leighton spoke up and Finley looked at her completely surprised. Oh, that's right. He didn't know about their previous encounter.

"Mr Leighton, I suppose?" he said with a smile, extending his hand towards the new comer. "Auror Aedan Finley."

"Oh, you're a professor, aren't you? Students talk a lot when they come to Hogsmeade!"

"Yes. Although I'm not a very good one recently. Too many things of greater importance to be dealt with," he smiled and looked at Clarisse out of the corner of his eye. "Speaking of which, we have to go."

Riss felt the urge to blush, as she stared at the corridor behind them with stubbornness. She didn't need to look at Jacques to know that he was eyeing her with suspicion, just as she knew that both Aedan and her friend wanted to establish some kind of dominance over her.

Merlin, how she hated working with men sometimes…

"Yep, I'm going," she muttered and stormed off, not waiting for any of them to go after her.

"Get well, Auror Bouchard! I'm looking forward to working with you!" Leighton's words reached her ears, but she was too busy to answer.

She had to get away from them. As fast as possible.

Her house greeted her with nothing, but silence. She was surprised that she had decided to come here, even after she told Finley that it wasn't an option. Maybe finding herself in a quiet place was all she needed?

Still, something about that peaceful place seemed weird. Was it even possible, that those few nights filled with nothing but nightmares had forced her to completely change her view of her own house? She should feel safe here, shouldn't she?

Clarisse took a few steps forward towards her small coffee table, which was completely covered by various books and papers. She sat down on the couch, letting her eyes roam over the tittles absentmindedly, while her tired brain worked hard not to fall asleep.

How long could she keep doing it? Maybe facing her mother wouldn't be so bad, after all? Eugenia loved her, even if she had never appreciated her life choices. She wouldn't leave her without help, that one was sure. But what if she simply wouldn't be able to help her? What if Clarisse was destined to have these nightmares till the day she died?

Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door and she jumped to her feet, clutching her wand with desperation. A moment later, Finley walked into the room, not waiting for her to answer the door, making her baffled and irritated at the same time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, still pointing her wand in his direction.

"I told everyone that I was going to walk you home. I don't want to get fired, because you ran off like a psycho."

She _didn't_. She just had had enough of that stupid conversation. There was nothing wrong with that.

"I had to run off. Jacques happens to be my best friend. He knows about my… problems. He wouldn't be happy that I'm still having them," she muttered and finally lowered her wand.

"I presume he told you to see someone about them?"

"He might have," she admitted reluctantly and plopped down on the couch once more. "It's just not that simple."

"Yeah, right. It's probably much more difficult than forcing yourself to stay awake for three days straight," Aedan mocked her and she offered him a glare in response. "What are you, stupid? Do you want to kill yourself?"

"Right now? Yeah. At least I wouldn't have to listen to you _smothering me,_ " she replied and closed her eyes with annoyance, only to snap them open a second later.

She was too tired to even blink without risking falling asleep.

"Clarisse…" His sigh sounded in the room and he walked up to her, crouching down to face her. "Go to sleep."

"What for? I'm going to have another nightmare and I'll wake up after an hour or two, even more tired than before. Been there, done that. There's no point in even trying," she answered and shook her head.

"There's always a point in trying."

"Oh, look at you, so wise and mature," she scoffed, making him irritated as hell, judging by the sudden tension in his jaw. "You don't know what's it like."

"Are you seriously this stupid? I've had nightmares before, you know? But I sure as hell didn't torture myself because of it."

"Staying awake is _not_ a torture. Reliving that same dream over and over _is_."

"Then take a Sleeping Draught!"

"It's not working!" she exclaimed and rubbed her forehead frantically. "Don't you think I would have tried that as soon as the nightmares started?!"

Aedan fell silent for a moment and then placed his hand on her knee, forcing her to look at him with suspicion.

"I used to have a lot of nightmares. I dreamt of my father's death, I dreamt about all those monsters he had to face on daily basis. My father always told me to toughen up, to clench my teeth and simply survive, but it wasn't simple for a ten year old kid to do that," he said quietly, while Clarisse kept looking at him, completely baffled. "My mother, though… She was always there for me. She used to hold me through the entire night, making sure I was okay. It was stupid, but I actually believed that as long as I was lying in her arms, nothing could have hurt me."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked after a moment of silence and Aedan averted his gaze, slightly ashamed.

"Because you don't have to be alone today. I can stay with you. Maybe it will help you, just as it helped me."

She almost laughed at his statement, but he was completely serious. Clarisse actually found herself at loss for words, not knowing what to do about his offer. Was he even that same person that walked into her house? Because the man she had known didn't act so tenderly and… caring.

"Aedan… Are you alright?" she managed to choke out after few minutes of silence and he sighed, getting up from his crouched position.

"You know what? Forget it. Just go to sleep. Nightmares or no nightmares, you're in no shape to work," he said and started to walk towards the door.

"Wait!" she muttered, before she could have thought it through.

He stopped in the middle of her living room and turned around, his face tense from the anticipation. Clarisse felt her cheeks heat up and she averted her gaze towards the coffee table.

"Stay. I'm probably barking mad, but stay."

"Yeah. You're not the only one who's mad…"

An awkward silence filled the room and Clarisse felt the need to escape it as fast as possible. She stood up, making sure to move slowly as though she didn't feel so freaked out and looked at him with a crooked smile.

"Um… I'm going to take a shower. Make yourself comfortable, I guess," she said and turned around, walking away towards the bathroom.

The shower did nothing to soothe her raging heart. Why on Merlin's pants did she agree to something so ridiculous?! She wasn't a child, she didn't need someone in her bed to scare away the monsters living in her closet. Sharing her bed with anyone felt _intimate_ and she was sure as hell that she didn't want to get intimate with Finley.

"What the fuck, Riss?" she muttered to herself, while the water kept streaming down her naked body.

It must have been sleep deprivation. That was the only logical explanation, considering the fact that earlier that day, she had asked Harry Potter if he had really killed Voldemort. She was out of her mind and she needed to get it back. Fast.

Clarisse walked out of her bathroom and found Finley lying on her bed, his Auror robes draped over a chair right next to the wall. His shoes, socks and jacket were gone, making him dressed in nothing, but a plain, white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He was reading a book –one he must have found on her coffee table- and didn't even notice her arrival at first. Or at least so she thought.

"Never took you for a romance lover," he said with amusement and looked up, his gaze sliding over her figure.

"I'm not. Those books are rather funny, you know." She shrugged and shifted uncomfortably.

Was she supposed to simply walk up to her bed and lie down next to him? Oh, Merlin, this felt so, so awkward. Finally, she decided that no matter how long was she going to stand there, nothing would change. Things would still be equally awkward and she would still want to _at least_ try to have some sleep.

A second later, she crawled into her bed, covering herself with her soft sheets. Finley tensed for a moment and then wrapped his arm around her silhouette, bringing her closer to his body. She tried to ignore his warmth and his scent, which turned out to be much more pleasant than she assumed.

"This is so, so awkward," she muttered into his shirt and felt his chest shake with a quiet laughter.

"Shut up and sleep. We're going to get back to our normal selves later."

"We better."

 _Or else being a Seer won't be the craziest thing in my life_ , she thought to herself and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10: The Fight

Her mother's house was stunning. Located in the heart of Paris, it could be described as one of those buildings that made Muggles gasp in awe. Or at least, it would, if it wasn't invisible to them. Its white walls, decorated with a lot of various sculptures and reliefs always reminded her of her family's wealth, something that was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Clarisse loved that house, there was no denying that fact. Most of her happy memories of childhood were connected to that place and its various attractions. As an old building, it held many mysteries, which proved to be a dream come true for a little girl, who had always been too curious for her own good.

She remembered all those times, when she had played hide and seek with her father. It used to be her favourite game, as it made her tingle with excitement every single time she had tried to find a hiding spot good enough to trick her old man. It made her so proud to know that he was having more and more troubles finding her in that massive house. Back then, that feeling had been everything she wanted.

Things had changed too much since then. Her father's face became nothing, but a blurry image in her memories, getting more and more vague with every passing day. She tried not to think about it, but she feared the day when it would become completely invisible. Her father was that one person, who was always there for her, protecting her from all the madness coming from her mother. Clarisse admired him and had always wanted to be just like him, to be an Auror and to make him even more proud of his little girl.

So many years later, she still wanted to make him proud, but she doubted he cared, wherever he was. Nobody knew whether he had even been alive, but she doubted that as well. Kylian Bouchard loved his family, he would have never simply _left_ them behind and that meant he had to be dead.

Clarisse came to peace with that knowledge a long time ago, but seeing her house always reminded her of the possibility that he was still alive somewhere and it made her uneasy. She didn't need a constant reminder of that, but what other choice did she have? She couldn't avoid that place forever, especially with those nightmares haunting her every night. Besides, her mother would _kill_ her if she refused to ever come home.

With a sigh, Clarisse crossed the street and climbed the stairs, leading to the house. When she grabbed the golden handle, all of the hesitation was gone from her face. She had already used all of the possible solutions to her problems and while _one of them_ worked, she certainly wasn't going to make another mistake like _that one_.

What on Merlin's pants was she thinking? Considering the fact that she was about to walk into her mother's house and announce that she might have been a _Seer_ or something equally ridiculous proved that she was a bit nuts. But to let Aedan Finley _sleep in her bed?_ She hated that bloody git! What the hell was wrong with her sleep-deprived brain?!

What made things even worse, was the fact that it _worked_. That ridiculous, pointless and completely messed up idea _worked_. She woke up rested and satisfied and completely baffled with the scent of her pillow. Her pillow had never smelled like a _man_ before and that concerned her for a moment, until she had remembered that stupid decision and her concern turned into shame and fury.

She had no idea how she was supposed to face him after what happened and she had absolute certainty that their next meeting was going to be _terrible_. But there was also a good consequence of her mistake. It had gotten her to go and see her mother, because she really didn't fancy the idea of letting Finley into her bed _ever again_.

The house was filled with silence, but it didn't startle her at all. Her mother hated noises, as she claimed that they disrupted her focus. It seemed weird to everyone, but Clarisse had actually gotten used to the silence pretty easily. Out of all the weird things coming from her mother's views, this one was almost bearable.

"Mother?" she asked, as soon as she had closed the door behind her and walked into the vast living room.

After what seemed like eternity, Eugenia Bouchard walked down the stairs with a completely surprised look on her face.

"Clarie? What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," she answered, not wanting to make this visit longer than necessary, but her mother clearly didn't appreciate her efforts.

"Please, don't tell me it's about that book again."

Clarisse rolled her eyes and sighed. Well, it wasn't, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that this damned book had been in the centre of action. They still didn't know what it said, but Mr Leighton worked on it since the day before and, according to Jacques, he seemed completely mesmerised by it.

"No, mom. It's about something else," she said and sat down on the couch, biting the inside of her cheek.

Eugenia stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at her daughter carefully. Something in that gaze made Riss incredibly uneasy, so she shifted on the couch and scratched her head, while her mother smiled with satisfaction.

"You're ready to admit that you were wrong, aren't you?" she stated cheerfully and Clarisse supressed the urge to moan in despair.

Of course, she should have known that her mother would figure things out even before she had managed to start explaining. That was so like her, after all.

"I have no idea, that's the thing," Clarisse answered, not wanting to give her all the satisfaction. "All I know is that I'm having those nightmares and I can't seem to get rid of them."

"Splendid!" Her mother clapped her hands and smiled brilliantly, making Riss open her mouth with disbelief.

" _Splendid?!_ I'm barely sleeping! How is that any good?!"

"You don't look so tired, Clarie," her mother noticed, forcing Clarisse to blush like a child.

Why would she look _tired_ after spending the night in Finley's arms? Wasn't he everything she had ever wanted? The Auror wanted to grit her teeth at her own, ironic thoughts. Even in her head, those things sounded absolutely ridiculous and there was no way _in hell_ that she was going to tell that to her mother.

"Yes, well, my body decided that it can't stand another insomniac night. I basically passed out in work and slept for a whole day," she lied and rolled her eyes at her mother's obvious doubt.

"You're lying."

"Am not! Why do you always have to assume that?"

"Because you are your father's daughter." Her mother's voice was quiet and filled with melancholy that instantly made Riss feel like trash.

She hated that bloody tone, because it was one of those things, which her mother used against her in every difficult, tense situation. Including this one _now._

"Why does it even matter, mom?" she finally sighed and rubbed her temple. "I came to you for help, not for an interrogation. I have enough of that on daily basis."

Eugenia fell silent and after a minute, she joined her on the couch with a serious expression.

"What do those nightmares look like?" she asked quietly and Clarisse closed her eyes, letting her mind drift off to those familiar scenes.

"They are always the same. I walk through a thick mist, that refuses to dissipate for a while and then, it suddenly disappears, leaving me on a square, surrounded by those churches."

"What churches?"

"Crime scenes. Every crime has happened in front of a church," Riss explained and her mother frowned with worry.

"What happens next?"

"The door open and those shadowy figures walk out of the churches, as I drop down to my knees, suffocating. A wave of nausea hits me and I struggle for breath."

"And?"

"And then I wake up."

Her mother nodded and smiled cheerfully.

"Do you want some wine?"

Clarisse expected a lot of things, but this? Um, no.

"Are you serious?"

"Why, yes, of course! We have a long talk ahead of us and I hate talking without something to drink." Eugenia's voice was light and airy, making her daughter even more annoyed.

She didn't have time for this. Her work was waiting for her and she needed to get back to it _soon_. Certainly, her mother had to understand it.

"Mom, I just need you to tell me how to make them stop," the Auror said making the older woman scowl.

"It's not so simple, Claire. It takes a lot of practice to learn to control your dreams. Every Seer needs to understand that."

"Well, I'm not every Seer, mom," Riss sighed and shook her head. "You know that I need to sleep in order to do my job properly."

"You need a lot more than that, Clarie." Her mother's voice made shivers run down her spine; it was quiet and low, almost threateningly so.

"What do you mean?"

Her mother sighed and reached towards her neck, startling her at first, but when she took out the Merlinite from underneath her shirt, Clarisse frowned slightly.

"I wasn't sure if you decided to wear it. I thought it would take less time to make you come here," Eugenia said and Riss blinked a couple of times, trying to understand her words fully.

What was she trying to say, huh?

"You told me to wear it," she muttered and her mother smiled proudly.

"Of course I did. How else could I get you to acknowledge you heritage?"

"Wait, what?"

"That stone was supposed to make you discover your abilities. You've spent your entire life supressing them and I couldn't let you do that anymore. I knew that you weren't going to drop that horrible case, so I needed to make sure that you will be ready for what's coming your way."

Clarisse wanted to scream. Literally. All that talk about her mother being gentle and loving, unable to _hurt_ her own daughter... Well, apparently it had all been a joke. A stupid, terrible joke.

"Please, don't tell me that I've spent the last week torturing myself, because you decidedto force me into something I clearly don't want," she gritted through her clenched teeth and her mother shot her an offended look.

"Clarie, don't you understand? You _need_ it, whether you want it or not. There is no other way around it."

"Why don't you let _me_ decide on that, mother?!" Riss stood up rapidly, unable to contain her anger. "Just once, for fuck's sake! You've always despised me for making my own choices, claiming that only the future _you've_ planned out for me is worth anything. You've never supported me and you don't give a shit about my actual life! All you care about is to make me acknowledge something that has always been a curse to me! Do you hear me?! A _curse_ , mother!"

She didn't care if the entire neighbourhood had heard her, even with all those spells cast upon the house. Suddenly, it didn't really matter that she had spent years trying to stifle all those emotions deep inside her heart, not letting them escape.

That one single thing made her blind with rage. It summed her life so perfectly that Clarisse really didn't have the strength to stay civil. She was done with feeling unloved, she was done with feeling guilty for not being the _perfect daughter_ , but, most importantly, she was done acting like a stone wall unable to feel anything.

"No matter what I do, I'm never good enough," she whispered, sounding completely broken. "Not to you. The only way to change it, would be to forget about my own dreams and goals, to admit defeat. To everyone, I'm worth _something,_ but to you? No. I'm just that daughter, who needs to change, who needs to do something, who needs..." she broke off and shook her head, when tears started to gather in the corner of her eyes.

She hadn't cried for years, since her father's disappearance. Tears were completely useless, after all. They didn't fix things, they didn't make the pain go away. They were a waste of time and Clarisse hated wasting her time.

"I don't need a Seer in my life. I never needed one. What I needed, was _a mother_. And guess what, I never got that. Just as you didn't get a daughter, who wants to listen to all that crap," the Auror said after a short while and looked at her mother, who sat on the couch completely still and shocked. "You can say that I'm blind, that I'm making a mistake, but you should really look at yourself in the mirror and think about your own actions. Because tricking your daughter into wearing a necklace that made her life a living hell doesn't qualify as a good deed."

Silence enveloped the room once more and Clarisse realised how uncomfortable it must have been for all the visitors. She could hear her own raging heartbeat, her mother's shaky breath and that annoying ticking of a clock, hanging on one of the walls.

"Clarie... I was doing everything for your own good," her mother whispered after what seemed like an eternity. "There are things that you simply cannot ignore, you have to learn to control them, before they start to control you."

"The only thing that's controlling me is _you_ ," she answered and unclenched her fists, letting the blood rush to her palms, making them hurt all over. "If I take that damned necklace off, will the nightmares end?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then I don't want it," she interrupted and almost ripped the Merlinite off her neck. "Take it and give it to someone, who actually appreciates your _meddling_."

With that, she spun around and left the house without the intention of ever going back.


	11. Chapter 11: The Tale

Clarisse walked into the room and greeted everyone quietly, not bothering to even look around. She wasn't lying when she said that the work was waiting for her, but she'd rather be anywhere else.

Her outburst wasn't something that she could have just forgotten in a blink of an eye. It was the outcome of _years_ of fighting her own feelings, fighting that overwhelming sense of being a nuisance to her own mother. Maybe she would regret her words later on, but right now the only clear thing was that her mother preferred to force the nightmares on her, rather than accept Riss for who she was or, at least, wanted to be.

She bloody hated being this vulnerable. Clarisse didn't want to look around, because she feared that everyone would be able to spot her weakness and she truly hated this idea.

"Auror Bouchard." Harry Potter's voice sounded in the room and she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Are you alright? You don't look so well."

"I agree. Have you slept?" Ashworth joined in, clearly worried.

Okay, so now she simply _had to_ look around. Unfortunately, Finley sat at the table, staring at her with a small smile that made her even more uncomfortable. Well, he probably already knew that she had slept like a baby.

"Yes. Everything's fine. I guess it's just not so easy to rest, when you haven't slept for a few days straight," she muttered and shrugged noncommittally.

Even her voice sounded different, like it lacked its usual spunk. She wanted to walk away so badly, to shield herself from their scrutinizing gazes, but she couldn't. Riss needed to stay strong, just as she always did.

"Really, I'm fine," she tried again, this time sounding much more convincing. "What are we waiting for?"

"For Mr Leighton, obviously," Finley responded with irony and it made her feel somewhat better that their relations weren't going to change drastically, even with this awkwardness she felt every time she looked at him.

"Thank you. That's exactly what I wanted to hear," she scoffed and shot him an angry stare that made him smile softly.

Okay, so maybe they weren't back to their normal relations. What the hell was he smiling at, huh?

"Mr Leighton should be here any minute. He took the book to his apartment, claiming that it would allow him to focus better," Ashworth specified and Clarisse frowned slightly.

"Who's with him?"

"Auror Colbert. Mr Leighton seems to like him, so we decided to send them together."

Oh no… So that meant Jacques would be here for the meeting. She really didn't have the strength to put up with it right now. Riss looked at Aedan and he raised his brows, clearly wanting to know what was he supposed to do. She shook her head slightly and looked around the room, not wanting anyone to know about their inaudible conversation.

"Where's Fabré?" she asked, realising that her mentor wasn't there as well.

"He got injured," her boss muttered and Clarisse froze in her spot, shocked at Deschamps' words.

"How the hell did it happen? Is he alright?!"

"Nothing serious. He got Stunned and fell off a bridge, straight into the Seine. Turns out, cold water reverses the effects of a stunner, so, fortunately, he had managed not to drown."

Clarisse snorted with amusement and cleared her throat, when Ludovic shot her a harsh look. It wasn't her fault that it was a bit _funny._ Antoine Fabré, such a great Auror… defeated by a bridge.

"That's a great accomplishment." Her voice lacked seriousness, but Deschamps couldn't exactly punish her for that.

She was actually grateful for that moment of comic relief, as it at least helped her to forget about her feud with Eugenia. Unfortunately, it was only a moment and her grim mood returned in its full grace.

The room became quiet once more, as no one had the need to talk about nonsense. Clarisse tried to ignore Finley's gaze, which was constantly fixed on her face, but it was getting harder and harder. Luckily, she was saved by the opening of the door.

Mr Corrick Leighton walked into the room with a brilliant smile on his face and Clarisse couldn't help, but smile as well. Her expression didn't change even after Jacques appeared behind him and it became clear that her best friend wasn't feeling all too well. He looked tired and Riss wanted to chuckle at his not-so-subtle annoyance. Even someone as talkative as him couldn't stand Leighton's constant babbling, apparently.

"Mr Leighton, Auror Colbert," Deschamps greeted both men and gestured them to sit.

Jacques looked around the room and took a spot next to her, smiling gently. Leighton sat at the end of the table, directly opposite of her boss, so that everyone could see him perfectly. He seemed excited, almost to the point of feeling weak because of it. Clarisse pushed her grim mood aside, as her intuition urged her to focus solely on information that were about to escape Leighton's mouth.

"How are you? You look better," Jacques muttered quietly, as Corrick busied himself with setting out all of the various papers and books from his bag.

"I am better. I think I was so tired, that my body simply couldn't take another nightmare," she explained, using the same lie as before, but her friend didn't seem to be entirely convinced, so she decided to change subject. "To be honest, _you_ don't look so good."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, making Clarisse genuinely amused.

"You were right, Riss. I didn't get much sleep, because he was talking _all the time_." His voice was full of misery and she chuckled lightly in response. "I like my job, but I don't think I've ever been _this_ excited about it."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Deschamps, who said:

"Mr Leighton, have you managed to translate this document?"

Corrick nodded and cleared his throat, readying himself to speak.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for providing me with such an amazing opportunity. The language is one thing, but this book itself is _ancient_. It comes from the times of the Ancient Alchemists, way before Merlin or Hogwart's Founders!" he exclaimed and everyone looked at him with surprise.

Clarisse switched her gaze towards the old document and frowned. Well, its yellowed pages and the language it was written in, strongly suggested that it hadn't been the creation of recent times, but it was so greatly preserved that it was almost hard to believe its real date of origin.

"Are you sure?" Auror Potter asked with hesitation in his voice. "Because it doesn't look _this_ old."

"Ah, that's because of the protective spells cast upon it!" Leighton said with a smile and caressed the book's cover. "I've never seen anything quite like it. None of my previous researches proved to be useful in determining what kind of magic was used here, but it led me to a conclusion that it must have been the Ancient Magic."

"Ancient Magic?" Finley asked and raised his brows, while Clarisse tried to hide a sudden shiver that rushed through her body.

Suddenly, her mind returned to her visit at Hogwarts, the day of her first meeting with Corrick Leighton. She remembered their talk about the Founders and their skills. On that day, she admitted that no one was able to recreate their achievements, because no one had that much power. Some kinds of magic had been completely forgotten. Was it possible that their killer tried to bring them _back?_

"Yes, Auror Finley. I thought you would know about it, since your father spent years trying to locate as many proves of its existence as possible."

Interesting. Judging by Aedan's expression, he didn't really want to talk about his father. Or _to him_ , for that matter. Clarisse had no doubts that if his father had spent years chasing history, he had to know about the book's origins. And yet, Finley hadn't even mentioned it.

Was his father really this bad? He must have been if even talking to him proved to be too difficult.

"My father and I don't really talk about his work," Finley said after a while and Riss couldn't think of another time she had heard him speaking with such coldness and animosity.

Everyone in the room, including Mr Leighton, must have noticed his sudden change of mood, because they weren't going to press the subject. Corrick cleared his throat and looked down to the book's cover with slight uneasiness.

"Yes, well… Maybe Mr Cillian Finley would be able to shed some more light on those spells, but I don't think it's the most important thing of all."

Riss felt her heart sink at the mention of the name 'Cillian'. She knew all too well that its striking resemblance to her own father's name wasn't a coincidence. It felt almost impossibly awkward to know that their fathers bore the same names…

She felt Jacques' questioning stare and she shook her head lightly, not wanting to talk about it. Kylian Bouchard was one of those subjects that stayed untouched, even in her friendship with Jacques.

"I translated the requested chapter, but I couldn't stop myself from reading the entirety of this document. I think it was a great decision on my part, because the things I've managed to find are… staggering." His voice was filled with amazement, but Clarisse couldn't help, but notice fear hidden deep inside his eyes.

"Mr Leighton, we would be immensely grateful if you could just tell us what does it say," her boss asked and tapped his fingers against the table, betraying his impatience.

"It doesn't have a tittle, but its dedicated to the various ways of expanding one's magical power," Leighton said. "It talks about rituals, about spells and creatures…"

"What creatures?" Clarisse interrupted his speech, as her entire body tensed in a blink of an eye.

Could it be… No. There was no way in hell that her dreams were trying to show her the killer. Or killers, for that matter. The Merlinite might have awakened her hidden _gifts_ , but it certainly couldn't lead her to the killer's identity, could it?

And yet, her mother's words would certainly point to it. " _I knew that you weren't going to drop that horrible case, so I needed to make sure that you will be ready for what's coming your way,"_ her mother said, but back then, Clarisse was way too angry and confused to let those words sink into her mind.

"Oh, it's a vast subject, Miss Bouchard," Leighton waved his hand dismissively and Clarisse bit the inside of her cheek.

How was she supposed to tell everyone that she was having dreams about those creatures, even before she became aware of their existence? Bloody hell… She looked at Jacques, who seemed to understand her doubts completely, and then at Finley, who stared at her with a deep frown marring his forehead. What was he thinking? Did he make the connection as well or was he simply surprised at her seemingly random question?

"Please, continue, Mr Leighton," Ludovic smiled at the man and then shot her a warning glance.

"Yes, yes… As I was saying, every single chapter refers to a way to gain more magical power. Those are very dark themes, I'm afraid. Back in the times, when this book was created, people viewed things like sacrifices or even blood rituals completely different. They were considered normal, sacred even. Without them, the wars would never end, just like the general bloodshed. Alchemists created those rituals and spells in order to make themselves invincible or, at least, stronger than their opponents," Leighton smiled with sadness and sighed. "I don't think anyone could use those spells today. Their incantations are complicated and demanding, and I think they require vast amounts of power. Isn't that ironic? Gaining power requiring even more power?"

No one seemed to appreciate that irony very much, so Leighton cleared his throat one more time and continued his tale.

"The ritual described on that page you marked is no different. But it's peculiar in a way, I have to admit," he said and opened the book. His fingers pointed to the woman's neck and everyone stood up, trying to see better. "That wound on the neck… It had to be thin and clean, as to not violate the body. Every cut, every bruise would damage the power residing inside of it. You see, the Ancient Alchemists believed that our magic flows in our _veins_. Sure, it fills the entirety of our bodies, but it is concentrated in the blood the most. That's why every blood ritual is considered to be powerful and that's why blood is usually one of the main sources of every potion's strength."

She didn't know why, but his words had managed to mesmerise her. Maybe because magic was the greatest mystery of them all and she loved mysteries more than anything? Even thinking about it made her tingle with excitement, despite the fact that Leighton's words seemed to make everyone else highly anxious.

"Those wounds shown in the picture were meant to provide the performer of the ritual with an access to the victim's power. According to the description, you have to make two incision on your hands and place them directly upon those wounds, so that your blood is mixing with the victim's. Next comes the incantation; ' _Let your power be mine, as I reach for it with good intentions'_. I was surprised when I first translated it, but everything became clear once I finished the chapter."

Clarisse frowned and propped herself on her hands, leaning forward and looking at the book from a closer distance. That incantation… It sounded almost as if those victims were _willing_ to die. Was she right? But if she was, how could one convince such young women to _die?_

"You see, the ritual cannot work if the sacrifice wasn't made willingly. Those women had to agree to everything beforehand," Leighton said, confirming her theory and she couldn't stop the shaky breath that escaped her mouth.

It was clear that their translator had a lot more to say than that, but he fell silent, giving them time to digest those information. Everyone seemed distraught by his words and they couldn't really be blamed for it. The reason for why they hadn't found any signs of struggle or fighting was the fact that those victims _knew_ what would happen. They had been lying on the cold ground, waiting for their death.

"Why women?" Finley broke the silence with a question and Clarisse bit her bottom lip. His question might have been sexist, but, unfortunately, she couldn't really discredit it. All of the victims were women and it became clear that it had to be more than just _personal preference_.

"Women didn't have too much to say back then, at least in the Muggle world. The Alchemists, however, believed that women were vessels for great amounts of power. It wasn't a coincidence that Muggles believed in the existence of the _Oracles_ , who were able to predict the future. Those girls who got chosen to become the Orcales were considered special, sacred even, as _God_ spoke through their mouths. The truth was slightly different and the Alchemists recognized it. They've discovered that those girls were very powerful. Something about this _gift_ they possessed made them so."

Clarisse felt her knees go week and she had to sit down, causing everyone's attention to shift from Leighton to her. She felt dizzy and her usually tanned face must have been drained from all the colour. How else was she supposed to look? Apparently, everything in her life had to revolve around that fucking _gift._

"Riss? Are you okay?" Jacques crouched down, looking at her with worry, but she found herself unable to answer. "Riss?"

Before she could get a grip on herself, everyone gathered around her and Jacques was joined by Finley, who crouched next to her on the other side.

"Hag? Say something mean for me," he asked and Clarisse couldn't help but react at that obvious insult.

"Shut up, you prick," she said in a squeaky voice and Aedan smiled lightly, although his eyes still seemed worried.

"What happened?" Her boss growled and she took a deep breath, trying to get rid of that nauseating feeling.

"My life's a fucking joke, that's what happened," she muttered and closed her eyes "My mother calls herself a Seer, but if she had lived in those Ancient times, she would undoubtedly be called something else."

Leighton gasped at her confession, while everyone else looked at her with caution.

"Your mother is an Oracle?! But that means that you have to be…"

She snapped her eyes open and met his stare, forcing him to close his mouth.

"It doesn't mean _anything_. I'm an Auror, Mr Leighton. I want to find this son of a bitch and I want to do this as fast as possible, so can we please continue?"

"Clarie!" Jacques sighed and shook his head. "You can't just do that. Don't you think your mother can actually help us now?"

Clarisse wanted to laugh like a maniac at that question. No, she didn't think that. Her mother was probably never going to speak to her again and getting her to change her mind would mean a lot of apologising and sulking. And she sucked at both of these things.

"That's actually a valid question," Leighton agreed. "You see, the ritual was designed to work only if the victim was an Oracle."

"So what are you saying? That all of them were _Oracles?_ What are the chances Mr Leighton?" she asked with irony and wiped the sweat from her forehead, deciding that she was starting to feel better.

"Apparently, they were big enough," Deschamps muttered and shook his head. "If Mr Leighton says that the ritual requires the victim to have that kind of power, we have to assume it's true. After all, our Forensics Department says that those poor gals were found with not even a trace of magic left in them."

"That's interesting," Leighton said and everyone looked at him with surprise. "The ritual doesn't require the performer to take all of the power. Actually, it kind of _forbids it_. The Alchemists believed it to be great disrespect to deprive someone, who's made a willing sacrifice for their benefit, of their magical abilities. The victims were supposed to die like every wizard, with dignity," he said and then frowned, his skin paling considerably. "Auror Bouchard, why did you ask about those creatures?"

Clarisse bit the inside of her cheek, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for her stupid question. Maybe the truth about her mother was now out in the open, but she really didn't want to talk about her nightmares. Besides, it wasn't like they could _identify_ those creatures, was it?

"Because of the saliva," Finley said, before she could have said something and she looked at him with surprise. "The killer must have cleaned the wounds from his blood, because we weren't able to find any traces of it, but the tissue around the cuts was covered in a grey substance. Our tests proved it to be dried saliva, no matter how weird it sounds."

Clarisse shot him a grateful look, but he ignored it completely, although she could have sworn that the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. Still, his explanation was pretty valid an she felt quite disappointed with herself for not coming up with it.

"That's not good… Not good at all," Leighton muttered and started to flip the pages frantically. He didn't even try to be delicate with them, as he clearly wanted to find something as fast as possible.

It took him only a minute to find it and he raised the book, showing them a drawing that covered the entire page. Clarisse tried her best to keep a poker face, but looking at the exact creature that was at blame for her insomniac nights wasn't particularly easy. She felt goose bumps prickling her skin and fought the urge to rub her arms.

"What the hell is this?" Ashworth asked and his voice sounded a bit unusual, as it lacked its cheerfulness.

Riss looked around and found everyone else wearing expressions similar to her own. They tried to remain impassive and calm, but she could see the uneasiness, residing deep within their eyes. She almost wanted to smirk, knowing that she wouldn't be the only one with nightmares, if they were to meet those creatures.

"They don't have a name," Leighton whispered and shifted nervously. "I mean, they do, but it's not easy to translate it into our language. In a literal translation, we would have to call them ' _Those, who were born out of death, who feed on power,'"_ he said and Clarisse snorted, even though the situation was hardly amusing.

"Very catchy," she noted and Leighton blushed. "Can you think of a shorter version?"

"Well, I guess they can be called _the Shadows of Power_. It certainly sounds better, although it doesn't describe them to the fullest. You see, they are kind of like Dementors. Just like those foul creatures feed on the despair, the Shadows of Power feed on the magical force residing in our bodies."

"I've never heard of them and I know a lot about creatures trying to suck the life out of people," Potter muttered and Clarisse really appreciated his half-comic comment.

"That's because they're supposed to be non-existent. The Alchemists created lots of rituals that allowed them to harness incredible amounts of power. But everything has its limits. Nature loves balance and it couldn't simply allow them to grow more and more powerful _._ Things got out of control and those creatures came to life, appearing whenever someone dared to absorb too much magic," Leighton explained, making everyone scowl.

Great. Did she really think that being an Auror would be _fun_? This was the opposite of it; she could hardly picture anyone who would have enjoyed chasing a lunatic obsessed with power, who had managed to gain so much of it that he brought some ancient creatures back to life.

"So, what are you saying? That those creatures appear whenever the killer performs a ritual and then suck the remaining power out of the victim?" Jacques asked with his brows furrowed and Leighton nodded slowly.

"It appears that way, yes."

Silence fell in the room, as everyone seemed completely absorbed with their own grim thoughts. Clarisse wanted to scream, but she couldn't. This case was difficult, frustrating and it forced her to face her worst fears. And now that everything was clear, they were still as far away from catching the killer as in the beginning. Riss wasn't a quitter, for fuck's sake, but at this moment, it started to feel like one of her biggest mistakes.

"Do you think he knows about those creatures?" Ashworth asked quietly, forcing her to forget about her despair. "The killer, I mean."

"He must. They're probably following him everywhere he goes, drawn to his immense power. It wouldn't surprise me if they fed on it, forcing him to kill over and over again, closing the circle yet again."

Clarisse frowned, as a thought popped into her head. Her boss must have noticed that, as he raised his hand, telling everyone to stay silent, giving her the time to connect the missing pieces of puzzles inside her mind. The Aurors from the UK seemed a bit weirded out by this behaviour, but they stayed quiet.

Why did the killer even feel the need to take someone's power in the first place? Was he aspiring to rule the world, like Voldemort? Or maybe he had a different reason that was still hidden from their sight? And those creatures… If he had the knowledge of the ancient times, it wasn't a bad assumption that he could have known about them from the beginning; yet, he still chose to kill. Kill and let them multiply, following him everywhere and feeding on his power. Why?

"Can you kill those creatures?" she asked after few minutes of silence and Leighton frowned. "Maybe he doesn't let them follow him around, maybe he disposes of them after every murder?"

"If they're like Dementos, they cannot be killed," Potter answered and shook his head, clearly distraught.

"That's where you're wrong, Auror Potter," Corrick said and frowned. "Or at least, that's what I think. This book doesn't mention the exact way to kill them, but it talks about ways to _harness power_. The Shadows of Power wouldn't be in here, if there was no way to access the magic they absorb. The legend says that in order to do that, you have to kill them. If you do that, all of their power goes to _you_."

Just like that, everything became clear. The killer committed murders in order to gain more power, but foremost, to bring to life the creatures that would consume the rest of magic remaining in the victims' bodies, without violating the rules of the ritual. Even if they sucked the power out of him, even if they weakened him temporarily, he still wanted to create them. And the reason for his actions was simple enough; once he had killed all of them, he would become so powerful that nothing would be able to stop him.

Clarisse felt shivers run down her spine, when another question appeared in her mind. Why did he want to become unstoppable?

"I'm starting to think that I'm jinxed, somehow," Potter said and everyone looked at him with questioning expressions. "First Voldemort decided that he wanted to kill me, even though I was a _new-born_ back then and now this. I wish there was a lottery for the most fucked up life, because I have a feeling that my opponents would give up as soon as they've seen me."

Something about his statement made Clarisse snort in amusement. All of the stress, all of the fear and uncertainty… It was just too much. Before she could have thought it through, she started to laugh like a lunatic, while everyone stared at her with awe.

After a couple of seconds, another laughter sounded in the room, as Potter joined her. Everyone else followed into their footsteps and the tension evaporated completely, even if it seemed completely stupid. Still, she didn't care.

If they were all going to die, trying to solve that damn case, they might at least do it in good moods, right?


	12. Chapter 12: The Humiliation

Awkward. There was no other way to describe this entire situation. Clarisse wanted to rip the hair off her head; a feeling that seemed to have become her greatest companion in those past few weeks. She was right when she had claimed winter to be her favourite time of the year; there was no serial killers, no ancient creatures and, most importantly, no _Aedan Finley._

What was wrong with him? Why did he think that following her _everywhere_ she went, could prove to be helpful? Okay, so maybe he didn't follow her all the time, as it would be pretty rude, even for him. But he did want to come with her to her mother's house, even after she had told him about their fight, about the _delicacy_ of the situation at hand.

And yet, when she had emerged from her bedroom this morning, she had found him sitting on her couch, reading a book. _In her house._ Clarisse rarely felt at loss for words, but seeing him, dressed in a blue, perfectly tailored shirt and nice-fitted trousers, she truly couldn't be more dumbfounded. It was fairly obvious that he wanted to look _dashing_ and her incredible mind didn't fail to connect that fact with her planned visit to her mother's house.

"Care to explain why did you decide to invade my personal space once again, dressed like you were going to a freaking charity event?" she asked after few seconds had passed and he offered her a smirk in response.

"Don't be ridiculous, Clarisse. I would wear dress robes to a _freaking charity event_."

"That doesn't answer my question _at all_ ," she snorted and he shrugged.

"Your observation skills are simply astounding. Are you always this bright in the morning?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Her response contained lots of repressed anger, but judging by his vicious smirk, he noticed it anyway.

"Guess I should have stayed until you woke up on that feral day, huh?"

Did he seriously have to bring _that_ up? Clarisse couldn't help the slight blush that appeared on her cheeks, as her mind provided her with the memories of his arms embracing her figure.

"We're not talking about _that_ ," she spat and ruffled her hair. "Why are you here?"

"I can't let you go to your mother alone. Your boss agrees with me. You're way too emotional when she's concerned and we need answers, not another set of questions, if you fail to reign in your feelings."

Every fibre of her being screamed at her, urging Clarisse to curse his stupid face off, but then he stood up and casually smoothed out the fabric of his shirt. Riss' mind went blank for a second, as her eyes took in his entire silhouette. Merlin, why did every men have to look _this_ good in elegant, fitted clothes? Not mentioning a really handsome man, as one would have to describe Aedan Finley.

"Are you done with the staring?" Finley asked and she scowled. Damn her fuzzy, slightly sleepy brain. There was no other way to explain her sudden appreciation for that barbaric moron standing a couple of feet away.

"Yep. Blue is not really your colour," she said and headed to the kitchen, wanting to escape his nauseating smirk.

"Liar," he muttered when she brushed past him.

If she didn't know any better, she would have thought that he was trying to flirt with her, but the idea seemed so ridiculous, that Clarisse shook her head and focused on her mission; she desperately needed some coffee.

Her kitchen didn't exactly scream _magic_. On the contrary, Riss always appreciated Muggle appliances, to her mother's dismay. Sure, spells made everything easier, faster, but the Auror enjoyed her morning routine, consisting of preparing her coffee, just the way her father had taught her all these years ago, when she thought the drink to be repelling. Many things had changed, memories had faded, but this one... this one she treasured way too much to simply let it fade away.

She took out her glass jug and a device to filter the coffee. One of her cabinets contained small jars, filled with coffee beans that had been meticulously measured to provide her with the most aromatic drink possible. Her grinder had been already set, as she drank exactly the same coffee every single day.

"What are you doing?" Finley asked, probably leaning against the frame, as she hadn't heard his footsteps or rustling of the chairs.

"I'm dancing," she stated with irony and rolled her eyes, fully knowing that he couldn't see it. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm making coffee."

"Cool. Can I have some?"

"Nope. Don't you prefer tea, anyway?"

"Do you know that we drink other beverages as well, don't you? And I'm not British."

Clarisse ignored his stingy remark and proceeded to brew her coffee, slowly pouring the water over the grinded beans in circular slow motions. The smell of freshly brewed, strong coffee filled the room, making her skin tingle, just as it always did. Riss smiled and waited for a moment, before removing the brewing device and pouring the drink into her favourite cup.

Finley sighed behind her, realising that she had no intentions of acknowledging his request and she heard him move towards her. He stopped right behind her and muttered:

"Can I have some coffee, please? It smells delicious."

Okay, if that wasn't _flirting_ , she had no idea what was. Did she snog him senseless in her sleep, causing him to suddenly develop some interest in her _feminine side_?

"Finley, you're invading my private space," she answered and took a sip from her cup. "If you want coffee, pour it yourself."

With that, she gestured towards the jug, which still contained enough liquid for another portion. Finley sighed, but moved away, looking for an empty, clean cup.

Clarisse bit the inside of her cheek, trying to find a way to convince him to leave her flat and abandon the idea of visiting her mother. She wasn't stupid enough to fail to see his reasons for wanting to come along. The idea of confronting her mother once more made her feel angry and anxious, but at the same time, Riss knew there was no way around it. Not with the theory developed during their meeting with Mr Leighton. Clarisse might have been ignorant enough to push aside every thought of her being an _Oracle,_ but there was no denying the fact of her mother being one, or, at least, claiming to be. At this moment, the woman was their best lead and ignoring it would be plain stupid.

Still, sharing that part of her life with anyone from work seemed... inappropriate in a way. The only person who had known her enough to make Clarisse feel at ease with this entire idea, was Jacques. Her best friend. Her best friend, who continued to avoid her at all costs lately.

"You're worried." Finley's voice interrupted her internal musings, making her look at him with exasperation.

"Shouldn't you be in Scotland? You know, considering you're a professor..."

"They don't need me this much. Anyone can help the students revise the material, which I've already taught them," he shrugged and raised his brows. "I'm an Auror, my main responsibility is to catch this son of a bitch and the Headmaster understands that."

Okay, so appealing to his apparently non-existent guilt over abandoning his students wouldn't work. She had to find another way to make him leave her alone.

"Can't someone else go with me? Someone who... likes me?"

"I can't think of anyone who could meet that criterion," Finley mocked in response and she shot him a glare.

"You can't think _in general_. What about Ashworth? Or Fabré? Or Potter?"

"Mark had to get back to England. His wife is very pregnant and very nervous."

"Ashworth's married?!"

"Obviously," he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "That huge wedding ring on his finger should have told you that. Anyways, Fabré said that he wasn't going to come anywhere near your mother. He claimed that you are tiring on your own, but when there's two of you... He bailed."

That baboon... Count on Fabre to make her look like the biggest hag on Earth.

"Potter had just solved another big case, back in the UK, so the press is following him around, since he's... You know, the Chosen One and stuff. So that leaves me."

"No, it doesn't," she protested and looked down to her almost empty cup. "There's always Jacques. My mother knows him, at least."

"He's not an official part of our team."

"He helped before!"

"Yes, well, it's not like he did anything of importance. He just had to sit on his ass and watch over Mr Leighton."

What did he mean by that? Jacques was an Auror and he didn't lack any skills to accompany her.

"Your boss wants to make sure that nothing's missed. And, according to him, your little friend often fails to see very important details. That's how he got injured, right?"

Not the firework incident again... Clarisse often teased Jacques about his misfortune, but it didn't mean she could simply allow everyone to describe it as a _mistake._ Everyone could have slipped on a puddle of blood and fall into a pile of fireworks, causing his wand to release some sparkles, lighting said fireworks up. Right?

"It was bad luck," she muttered through her clenched teeth and Finley rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say. It's not what your boss says, though, so forgive me for ignoring it completely. And now, if you could please hurry up, I don't have all day."

Clarisse fisted her hands and closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to calm her nerves. Aedan Finley could be truly infuriating; mean and rude in one second, decent in the next one. His behaviour made her so angry that she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She couldn't though. No, Clarisse Bouchard had to admit defeat.

"I hope you're going to regret all that, after meeting my mother. Charming woman. She'll probably eat you alive," she spat and left the kitchen in long strides, ignoring Finley's quiet comment.

"No worries, I've met her daughter."

* * *

"This is your house?!" Finley asked with disbelief and then whistled loudly, making her entire body stiffen.

"No, we've just left _my house_. This one belongs to my mother," she corrected, ignoring the feeling of anxiety, spreading through her body.

She bloody hated that moment, when people found out about her rich upbringing. Clarisse wasn't sure why, but money seemed to change everything, especially the way people tended to look at someone with a considerable amount of funds. They became nicer, or meaner; it varied, depending on their intentions towards said person. Clarisse noticed that people either loathed her for being 'blessed', or tried to slither in her good graces, hoping to benefit from her wealth.

The woman briefly wondered which type would Finley prove himself to be, but his laid back posture told her nothing.

"Living in a mansion sucks, doesn't it?" he muttered after a while and gazed at her sideways.

"Yeah," she admitted, trying not to show surprise at his comment. "Don't know how my mother does it."

"And... your father?"

A scowl appeared on her face, clearly hinting Aedan about the mistake he'd just made. Finley cleared his throat and looked at the house once more, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"My father is kind of not in a picture anymore," she replied dryly and clicked her tongue. "And guess what? It's not your business. Unless you want to talk about _yours_?"

"Nope. Let's just go, huh?"

Instead of replying, she simply crossed the street, not waiting for Finley to join her. Her anxiety made her body tense, rigid almost, as she wondered about the events of the nearest hour. Would her mother even _want_ to talk to them? Honestly, she started to wonder if she should even walk into the house. Finley wasn't that incompetent not to be able to deal with the woman on his own. Maybe she could bail out?

"Don't think about this, _Clarie_ ," Aedan whispered, joining her at the threshold and putting a hand on the small of her back, probably to prevent her escape.

"Don't call me 'Clarie'," she answered immediately and raised her hand to pull on the golden door handle.

"Shouldn't we knock? After all, it's not _your house_."

"Shut up."

Riss pulled the handle and walked inside, once again leaving her insecurity behind. This time, it wasn't a private visit, even if it required her to solve some personal matters first. She was here because of her _work_ and she had to summon every ounce of her professionalism.

"Mother?" she called out, stepping into the vast living room, not surprised to see it empty.

No answer followed her question and Clarisse sighed, looking around, wondering about her mother's whereabouts.

"Damn, it's awfully quiet here," Finley muttered, making the woman snort in amusement.

"My mother silenced the clock. She hates noise."

"Then how did she manage to put up with you all this time?"

Riss shot him a glare and opened her mouth, wanting to answer his rude question, but before she could do so, another voice sounded in the room.

"Indeed. How?"

Eugenia Bouchard appeared in the room, dressed in beautiful, royal purple robes that made her look like a beautiful statue of a queen. Her light, blonde her shone bright, catching every single ray of sunlight, as her pale eyes bore into her daughter's frame with a scrutinizing look.

Suddenly, Clarisse found herself unable to speak. All of her carefully prepared words had left her mind, causing her to stare at her mother's silhouette with a dumbfounded expression. Luckily, Finley made a few steps forward and smiled brilliantly.

"Madame, I'm Auror Aeadan Finley. I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but, unfortunately, we find ourselves in a dire need of your help."

Her mother smiled back at him and extended her hand towards Finley. To Clarisse's surprise, her _colleague_ bent down and placed a kiss on the back of Eugenia's hand, making her giggle slightly.

"Oh, such a gentleman. I learned not to expect such gestures from men, but it's always nice," she cooed and sighed pleasantly. "Please, have a sit! Can I offer you something to drink? Wine perhaps?"

"Mom, we're at work," Clarisse spoke, but her mother ignored her completely, looking at Finley.

"Um... No, thank you, Madame," he said, but after Eugenia's expression faltered a bit, he cleared his throat. "I mean, water would be nice."

"Splendid!"

The older woman left the room and Finley's gaze immediately travelled to Clarisse, who stood still near the entrance.

"She's lovely," he said and shifted on the couch, stretching his arms over the backrest, forcing Clarisse to acknowledge how ridiculously comfortable he looked. "Don't know why everyone seems to be afraid of her."

"Just give her a minute," she muttered in response and finally moved, joining him on the couch and sitting as far away as possible.

Next couple of minutes were filled with silence, which seemed to be awkward only for her. Riss tapped her foot against the marbled floor with anxiousness, while Finley watched her with a lopsided smirk that drove her crazy. He clearly enjoyed her uneasiness and she found herself in a desperate need to punch him in his handsome face.

"Here you go!" Her mother appeared again with a cheerful expression, laying a silver tray on the table.

Clarisse frowned slightly, seeing as there was only one glass of water; the remaining two drinks were definitely resembling _red wine_.

"Mom..." she started, but Eugenia waved her hand dismissively, not letting her continue.

"I don't think we can endure that conversation sober, pumpkin."

Aedan masked his laughter with cough, as soon as he had heard the nickname. Clarisse looked at her mother with desperation, blushing slightly at the humiliation, but Eugenia enjoyed herself too much to simply stop embarrassing her daughter.

"I can't drink right now. It's not even noon, mom!"

"We both know that you like drinking too much to care for such stupidities."

Oh, great. So now she was an alcoholic in the making?

"Unless you want to impress your boyfriend, please, drink your wine," the woman added and smiled cheerfully, while Clarisse opened her mouth in pure mortification.

"My _what?!_ Mother, this is ridiculous, he's not my boyfriend!"

"That's right, Madame. I only work with Clarisse," Finley backed her up, completely calm and relaxed.

"I'm sorry. It's just when my daughter came here the other day, smelling faintly of male perfumes, I hoped that maybe she's finally _gotten some_. Now I realised that she smelled like you, but I guess it could have been a coincidence."

Silence enveloped the room, as Clarisse did her best not to die out of embarrassment, Finley looked completely baffled by her mother's statement and Eugenia smiled with satisfaction.

"We're not sleeping together," Riss finally choked out and the older woman raised her eyebrow.

"Well, you definitely slept together once. Your expressions just told me."

"We slept _next to each other,_ not together!"

Finley scratched his head and averted his gaze, muttering something underneath his breath and making Eugenia erupt in a pearly laughter.

"Clarie, what are you, five? There's nothing wrong in admitting you like that dashing gentlemen. You've always liked tall blonds."

Aedan raised his brows, suddenly amused and Riss covered her eyes with her hand. She simply knew it. Her mother had to find a way to punish her for that memorable outburst and embarrassing her in front of a work _colleague_ served her purpose perfectly.

"Every rule has its exception, mother. There's nothing between me and Aedan and I would appreciate if we could get to the point of our visit in your house."

"Our house, Clarie. If I die, this place goes to you. I thought you knew that?"

Merlin, why did she have to suffer through that painful experience? Why, why, why, why?

"Mom, for fuck's sake!"

"Language, pumpkin. You can have such a dirty mouth sometimes. How do you expect Aedan here to fall for you, if you talk in such unladylike way? He's going to kiss that mouth at some point."

"THAT'S IT!" Clarisse yelled and jumped to her feet.

She grabbed the glass of wine and downed it in a couple of gulps, not caring about her mother or Finley.

"I'm not doing it! I might have been rude to you, but you were the one who did wrong by me! And instead of saying that you're sorry for forcing me to experience nightmares and to sleep with _him_ , you continue to humiliate me! Merlin, and you're wondering why I can't stand to be around you, huh?!"

Clarisse rushed to the door with her fists clenched and eyes filling with tears. She wanted to get out, nothing else. She was right when she had claimed Finley to be competent enough to conduct this interview on his own. And now, he would simply have to, because she wasn't going to stay here for another minute.

This house was probably going to become hers at one point, but how could she ever want it? After all, her good and happy memories were long gone, leaving nothing but constant humiliation and resentment. No one could live in such place. No one.


	13. Chapter 13: The Feelings

"Yet another boring day at the office," Jacques said cheerfully, as soon as she walked into the room.

She didn't know what surprised her more: the fact that he was present at their office or that he chose to start a conversation with her. After few days of constantly avoiding her and walking out of every place where he noticed her, it certainly felt surprisingly _refreshing._

"Nothing about today's boring," Clarisse answered dryly and plopped down onto her chair, closing her eyes with annoyance.

Was she supposed to address his weird and _hurtful_ behaviour? Or simply ignore it and write it off as 'bad days'? Hell if she knew. Having only _one friend_ did nothing to help her social skills.

"Why is that?"

"Well, for instance, I'm waiting for Finley to get back from the visit at my mom's house, who, by the way, humiliated me once again. He's bound to bring some information. I guess."

"Wait, what? What happened?"

"You'd know if you haven't been avoiding me," she muttered in response and opened her eyes, facing his guilty expression.

"I haven't been avoiding you!" Jacques protested and scratched his head. "I've been just..." he broke off, seeing her anger and sighed. "Fine, I was avoiding you. I just realised something and needed to have some space."

"Great. I hope it worked out for you."

Riss knew she shouldn't be mad at Jacques. They weren't joined at the hip, after all. Still, wasn't that how friendship was supposed to work? Friends supported each other in tough situations and visiting her mother had been helluva lot tougher than she'd anticipated. She could use a friendly face to talk to. And if he had his own problems, why did he choose to go through them alone? She could have helped him as well!

"It didn't actually. Which is why I really need to talk to you about something."

Oh, so now he wanted her help? How nice of him.

"Sorry, not in the mood," she said and rubbed her forehead. "Not until Finley gets back anyway. I don't think I can focus on anything else than the possibility of him talking crap about me to my _mother_."

Jacques fell silent for a moment and then sighed, clearly agreeing to her request, albeit reluctantly.

"Why aren't you with him?"

"I was. But then my mother started to talk bullshit about him being my boyfriend and..." she stopped herself before she could have mentioned that damned nightmare situation. Telling Jacques about sleeping in the same bed as the annoying Irishman didn't seem like a particularly good idea.

"And?"

"And other stuff." Clarisse waved her hand dismissively. "She's still pissed at me for yelling at her and she wants to punish me for it. Unfortunately, out of all people who could have witness that, it had to be Finley."

Jacques frowned and looked like he really wanted to say something. His inner debate was as clear as sunshine and Clarisse found herself unable to simply ignore it. She sighed and moved closer to the desk.

"Speak up, Colbert. I may be mad at you, but apparently this is the time, when I ignore my own feelings in order to help you."

Jacques smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, which was really weird for him. His smile always lit up his entire face, making the room instantly brighter and warmer.

"You like him, don't you?" he said quietly and Clarisse frowned, completely baffled.

"Finley? Hell no," she answered after the initial surprise had subsided. Why would he even _think so_?

"Clarie, you don't have to lie to me," Jacques whispered and scowled. "If you do like him, it's fine. I can't understand it, but I can't really force you to change your mind."

"But I'm not lying! He's arrogant, annoying and incredibly disrespectful!"

"So are you and I still like you," he answered and Clarisse shut her mouth immediately. "Probably more than I should."

His voice was full of sadness, even though he tried to supress it as best as he could. He avoided her gaze, staring at his hands with suspicious interest. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he looked almost _sick_. What made this situation even worse, was the fact that she must have looked equally bad.

"Jacques..." she muttered, without the intentions of continuing her speech. What did people say in situations like this one?

Was she supposed to thank him? To prod further and force the entire confession out of him? Ignoring it altogether didn't seem like an option either, which left her completely stunned and unable to make a move.

"We're friends, Jacques," she finally stuttered, after a moment of heavy, tensed silence. "Partners."

"Yes. We're good together," he said and smiled crookedly. "We're so good that it was rather hard not to start... feeling things."

She blinked a couple of times, hoping for this entire situation to go away. Confronting her own _deeper_ feelings had never been easy, not for her anyway. But confronting them under such pressure? In that moment, it seemed completely impossible.

Just like during his visit in her house, she found herself thinking about actually giving them a shot. What would it feel like to be _with_ him, rather than next to him? What would it feel like to kiss him out of her own volition and not because of some undercover mission?

Jacques was perfect in many different ways. He understood her, he never wanted her to change. There would be no demands and ultimatums regarding their professional lives, as they both knew their aspirations and supported each other. Jacques would care for her, make her feel relatively normal and wanted. It sounded like a dream come true, didn't it? Or at least, it should sound that way.

"You're like a wild fire, Clarie," he whispered, forcing her to stop her musings and focus her attention on him. "You have a temper that can burn everyone around in an instant. People get scared by you easily, because they're unable to understand it. But I do. Your fire has never burnt _me_. I guess you could say that I'm drawn to you, like a moth to a flame," he laughed, but the sound lacked any humour. "But I know that it doesn't matter. Because you don't feel the same way about _me_."

Clarisse hadn't felt this bad for a very long time. Actually, she had troubles remembering even one single moment, when her heart ached with such guilt and anger. She had never wanted to hurt him. Not him, not her _best friend_. Yet, his eyes, filled with sadness and longing told her that she had managed to do it anyway.

"I... I don't know what I feel, Jacques." Her quiet response was true to a certain degree. She really didn't know how to approach this entire situation. Romance had never been her area of expertise; it confused her and made her somewhat scared. Scared of being dependant on someone else, scared of being chained and suffocated.

Clarisse had pushed away any thoughts of getting involved with someone. She didn't need them on daily basis, so she chose to completely ignore them, hoping that maybe they would still be there once she became ready to face them. But they weren't there; her inner turmoil regarding Jacques' confession had nothing to do with the way she _felt_. She simply started to analyse the possibility of their relationship, making it cold and logical, when it should have been anything, but that.

"I believe you, Clarie," Jacques answered and sighed. "But it only proves my point. Because if you loved me back, you would _know_."

There. He said it and now there was no going back. Clarisse felt shivers running down her spine, but they were hardly a sign of excitement after hearing such a beautiful confession. They were a sign of fear; fear of losing her only friend, fear of loneliness. She knew that it had nothing to do with requiting his own feelings and it made her feel like a raging bitch.

"I've never been in love, Jacques. How would I know, if I've never felt it before?" she asked, trying to do something to fix this situation, but she knew it was just the desperation talking.

"Trust me, you'd know, Clarie," he answered and met her gaze. "I can't blame you for not wanting me. After all, I fell for that one girl, who has never understood the allure of romance. You don't even let anyone befriend you, so I should probably be grateful for _that_ , huh?"

He was broken. Irony didn't suit him, nor did that haunted look in his brown, warm eyes. _She broke him_. And she did it without even trying to.

"Jacques..." Clarisse started and then bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. The pain did nothing to help her find the right words. "I'm..."

"Don't apologise," he interrupted her and shook his head. "You should never apologise for your own feelings, or the lack of them in this case. I just wish you'd stop being so afraid of letting yourself _fall_. Getting hurt is terrible, but... You get over it. _I'll_ get over it."

He stood up and left the room, before she could have gathered her thoughts. She wanted to call for him, to make him turn and stay with her, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. What good would it do? Jacques didn't deserve being lied to, being deceived by her empty words. That was all she could offer him, after all.

She chose this life. Life of a loner, who didn't care about others. They could hate her, call her names and it still would do nothing to break her solid walls. And until now, Clarisse was completely fine with it. Being alone meant that she wouldn't get abandoned ever again, that she wouldn't have to suffer through all the pain.

Until now, she had really believed it. But when Jacques left the room, she understood how wrong she was. Because it still hurt. It hurt like hell.

* * *

Clarisse came home only to find Finley sitting on her couch, just like this morning. He was reading the same book, his gaze completely focused on the text in front of him. Normally, she would have yelled at him or said something mean, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Riss walked up to the couch and plopped down on it. Finley looked at her immediately and she didn't have to meet his gaze to know that his face showed nothing, but worry.

"Clarisse? Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm always alright," she said and shrugged. Her voice sounded completely void of all the emotions, which surprised her greatly. Riss halfway expected to burst into tears, as soon as she had opened her mouth. She kind of _wanted_ to do so, but there was no way in hell she'd do that in front of Aedan.

"And I'm the Minister for Magic." The Irishman rolled his eyes and closed the book with a quiet thump. "You stormed out of your mother's house, looking positively furious, and you didn't even try to throw me out of here. You're clearly not okay."

"Whatever," she said and closed her eyes. She wanted to simply drift off to sleep, so she wouldn't have to face the reality, which suddenly started to look even gloomier.

Clarisse knew though, that the man sitting right beside her wouldn't just let her be. Aedan Finley tended to be mean and annoying, but it seemed that he really wasn't _heartless_. Maybe he simply considered Clarisse to be another _damsel in distress_? She didn't know what stood behind his sudden change of heart, but he really started to treat her _differently_. Unfortunately, it meant that there was no easy way to get rid of him.

"How did it go with my mother?" she asked, completely ignoring his observations.

"I have no bloody idea. It's hard to tell if she'd told me everything she knew," Aedan answered, still looking at Clarisse with caution.

"Probably not. It's my mother we're talking about," she snorted and shook her head. "But what did she tell you?"

"She doesn't seem to know much about the Ancient Magic, or those creatures. Well, she has a _feeling_ that something bad is coming, something that terrifies her, but... Uh, it's not very _legit_. We cannot exactly walk around asking people if they had sensed something terrible in their vicinity," he said with amusement. "She does know our French victims though."

Clarisse glanced at him for the first time since she had sat down on the couch. Her stomach clenched, when she realised that their theory about the victims being Oracles had just been confirmed. How else would her mother know them?

"Shit," she said and Finley smirked.

"Shit indeed. But at least we know what to look for. We have a connection between those woman, which is more than we've had since the first murder occurred."

"Yeah, but we still have no idea who kills them."

"Actually, your mother said something about this Muggle club here in Paris," Finley said. "A club for people with _gifts_. Most of the clientele is, obviously, delusional, but apparently some of the real Seers go there, just for fun. Maybe it would be a good idea to check if the victims were one of those people."

Clarisse had to admit that this idea made a lot of sense. Even with all the knowledge about the Ancient Magic, the killer had to find his Oracles somewhere.

"Sounds like a plan," she said and Aedan sighed tiredly.

"I've already told Auror Deschamps all about it. He'll come up with the best possible approach."

Riss wanted to groan out loud, realising that she would be the one sent to the club. First of all, she had a pretty good sense of how the Seers behaved and secondly, there was always the possibility that she _met the killer's expectations._ It didn't take a genius to figure out that Deschamps would want to use her to possibly lure him out.

"Great," she muttered quietly and then scowled when another realisation hit her. She would have to go to the club without her _partner._ Jacques wasn't a part of their team, but after today, she doubted that they could go on missions together _ever again_.

All of her negative thoughts returned with doubled force, almost knocking the breath out of her lungs. Why did she have to screw everything up? Why did she have to hurt him, instead of just paying attention for once in her life? The more she thought about it, the more aware of the signs she had become; the way he looked at her, when she smiled, the way his touches lingered on her skin sometimes... Clarisse was ignorant enough to miss all of them, or to brush them off as _irrelevant_. She did nothing to stop him from falling in love with her. She did nothing to even try to _love him back_.

"Riss... What happened?" Finley asked quietly and she felt tears pricking her eyes.

For fuck's sake, she couldn't start crying in front of him. How pathetic would that be?!

"Not your business, Finley." Her voice didn't sound aggressive, or even harsh, like she wanted it to. She sounded broken and it made her feel even worse.

 _I just wish you'd stop being so afraid of letting yourself fall._ Jacques words replayed in her head and fear started to seize control over her mind. She wasn't _weak_. She couldn't be. Clarisse Bouchard didn't cry over some _feelings_ , she didn't break because of loneliness. That's what she promised to herself, a long time ago. Breaking that promise was not an option.

"Why are you so determined to constantly push me away? To push _everyone_ away? It doesn't make you badass, Clarisse. It just makes you stupid." Finley's response made her gasp for air. Her shields began to crumble and tears started to flow down her face, despite her efforts to stop them.

"I'm not stupid," she managed to choke out, clenching her fists so hard, that her nails started to dig into her skin, but the physical pain did nothing to ease the one eating up her heart. "I just... I just can't..."

"Can't what?" Aedan's voice sounded from such a close distance that she immediately looked at him.

His brown eyes were filled with worry and agitation, making her heart speed up its pace. They looked so similar to Jacques' and yet so different. They reminded her of liquid chocolate, rich and sweet in taste. The emotions so clearly visible in those irises did nothing to help her get a grip over her own feelings though.

"I can't let myself fall, Aedan," she finally answered and bit her lip.

To her surprise, he didn't ask about the meaning of her words. He stared at her face with his lips parted, until he finally sighed and put his hands over her shoulders, pulling her closer. She didn't know why, but she let him hold her and caress her hair, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His scent and warmth radiating from his body managed to get rid of some of the coldness she felt, helping Clarisse to find some of her lost strength.

"I don't know what's happened to me," she muttered into his shirt. "My life started to resemble chaos and everything I do only makes things worse. I fucked everything up, Aedan."

"Is it about your mother?"

"No. Yes," she laughed humourlessly. "It's about _everything_. It's about me being a raging bitch, who doesn't care about anyone's feelings. It's about my mother, who doesn't care about _my feelings_. It's about the fact that I've spent my entire life trying to detach myself from emotions, only to find out that it doesn't really work."

Aedan didn't answer, but his embrace tightened a bit, making her let out a shaky breath. Suddenly, she realised that telling him everything didn't sound so bad anymore.

"Jacques told me he loved me," she confessed quietly and felt him stiffen. "And I didn't even notice. I hurt him, when he was the only person who wanted to be friends with me. Eventually, I treated him the same way I've treated everyone else who attempted to get closer. He didn't deserve that, Aedan. No one did, but I couldn't care less. Because it didn't matter, as long as I wasn't the one hurt and abandoned."

Finley sighed into her hair and slowly released her from his embrace. He didn't move away completely, taking her face into his hands and gazing deep into her eyes.

"It's never too late to change."

"But I can't! I let myself care for him, I let myself become friends with him and look where it got me! I broke his heart and he abandoned me. And it was my fault! Just like before..." she whispered and closed her eyes, not wanting him to see her haunted gaze.

"What happened before, Clarie? What was so terrible to _break you_?"

She fell silent for a moment, desperately trying to find the right words. They didn't come, so she simply opened her eyes and offered him a crooked smile.

"Everything, Aedan. My father went missing when I was a child, leaving me with my mother, who could never be bothered with my dreams and aspirations. All she cared for was that _gift_. I started to hate everything about it, because I knew that without it, my mother wouldn't give a shit about me. My life turned into a constant fight, constant struggle to find my place in the world. And at some point, all that resentment and pain became too much to handle. I didn't want to care anymore, because caring _hurt_."

"What about Jacques? Why did you change your mind for him?"

"I didn't," she admitted quietly and averted her gaze. "He was just constantly there, so I stopped fighting it. He slithered into my life and I simply accepted it, without giving it much thought. I was foolish enough to think that it wouldn't change this much, that if he decided to leave, I'd still be alright. And he never seemed to be bothered by my choices. Until I _decided_ to hurt him."

"You didn't _decide_ , Clarisse. You can't simply _decide_ to love someone. It sort of happens."

"How would I know? The only person I've ever loved disappeared years ago."

"Your mother's still here," he noticed and smiled gently. Clarisse snorted in response, not sure if her feelings towards her mother were even remotely similar to _love_. "Her behaviour wouldn't affect you this much, if you didn't love her. You're not a machine, you know? You can pretend that you don't feel, that you're like a rock, but the sooner you accept that it's one huge lie, the easier it will be to actually learn how to deal with those buried emotions."

"What if I don't want to deal with them? What if I cannot take being abandoned once more?" she whispered in response and felt Finley caress her face gently.

"Then those emotions will kill you, Clarie. And I don't mean it in a physical sense. You'll slowly hate yourself more and more, until you won't be able to take it."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because _my father_ did that. He dedicated himself to his work. He's seen so much evil and suffering that he decided to push away his own family, so we wouldn't have to deal with those horrors. He kept everything buried inside, becoming colder and colder, until he started to hate himself so much that he couldn't even look at himself in the mirror," he said and forced her to meet his gaze yet again. "Don't do this, Clarie. Because the only thing that's worse than being hurt by someone is the knowledge that you destroyed _yourself_."


	14. Chapter 14: The Mission

Clarisse Bouchard was on a _mission_. Mission, that would seem completely ridiculous to every single person who'd learn about it, but she was deadly serious about carrying it out in the most perfect manner. She simply couldn't stand spending her days in that hole filled with depressive thoughts and guilt. The Auror had never been the one to sulk and whine about her own _terrible life_ , but everything that had happened lately affected her more than she would care to admit.

Hurting Jacques had never been an option. She expected him to open his eyes at one point and walk out on _her_ , not the other way around. It seemed almost impossible to experience this much pain and disappointment over your own actions. Riss was falling asleep with guilt eating up her heart and she woke up with reluctance; she didn't really want to face another day, knowing that she would have to do it completely alone.

Clarisse had always resented the idea of being someone else, just because she didn't quite fit into the society's expectations. What felt even worse, was the fact that she had found herself _wanting_ to change something. She didn't believe in miracles; she highly doubted that getting rid of all her flaws was even possible. But maybe there was a way to become someone _better_ , no matter how ridiculous it sounded?

The fact that she even thought about it made her want to scowl and rip her hair off. She sounded like a sodden fool and she hated it. Clarisse had to force herself to stay rooted to her spot in the elevator, because every fibre of her being screamed that she was acting completely bonkers. But she really _was_ on a mission. Because getting a hang of her own emotions couldn't be described as anything else, at least not for her. And just like every other mission, it needed to be taken seriously.

She found Herbert sitting at one of the desks in a room right next to the lab. The entire wooden surface of the furniture was covered with various files and documents, probably concerning some other cases assigned to the Auror Bureau. Clarisse walked up to his station and slammed her hands on the table. Herbert jumped up and spilled his coffee all over himself, looking positively frightened.

 _Great start_ , she had thought to herself, watching as he tried to decide whether to clean his clothes first, or maybe acknowledge her presence.

"Sorry," Riss muttered and smiled apologetically, which surprised the man so much, that he stopped doing anything whatsoever and simply stared at her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Cla-Clarisse? What... What are you doing here?" he stuttered in response and looked away, trying to clear out the mess he'd made.

The Auror took out her wand and cast a simple cleaning spell, surprising him once again.

"I'm here, because I need your help," she stated simply and sat at the edge of his desk, careful not to push any of his papers to the floor.

"Is this about your case? I'm afraid I don't have anything new."

"It is about a case... Kind of."

"I don't... I don't understand."

Clarisse scowled and looked around, trying to decipher how much attention had she drawn to herself by simply talking to Herbert. She almost rolled her eyes, as soon as she realised that no one seemed to be aware of her presence. All of the Forensic Experts were busy with their work. Good. She wouldn't have to humiliate herself in front of everybody.

"How can you be so... nice to people?" she asked and Herbert blinked a couple of times.

"Are you seriously asking me..."

"Yep." She didn't let him finish, scratching her head with embarrassment. "I know it sounds stupid, but... Well, let's just say that I can't exactly continue to offend people every time I open my mouth."

"That's not what you do, Clarisse," Herbert said and frowned. "If that was the case, I would have never started to like you in the first place."

Oh. So he didn't consider her to be the greatest bitch ever? Even after their _not-date_? She certainly didn't expect that.

"You're probably the most sarcastic person I've ever met, but all of the Aurors kind of are. I think it's the coping mechanism you've all developed to stay sane. You witness tragedy after tragedy and there is simply no way to endure all of it without distancing yourself somehow." Herbert smiled at her baffled expression and shifted on his chair. "It's not your sarcasm that scares people away, though. Your snarky remarks are actually hilarious, most of the time."

"So what does scare them away then?"

"Talking to you can feel... Well, depressing. You don't care about the person standing next to you. You treat everyone exactly the same, no matter who they are and what they do. And people don't like being treated like thin air. Just as you are proud of your skills, most people are proud of theirs. Hardly anyone can stand spending time in the presence of someone, who makes them feel _little_. You make everyone get the impression that they aren't good enough for _you_ , which ultimately means that it's actually the other way around."

Clarisse blinked a couple of times, trying to determine, whether Herbert's words made any sense at all. She must have looked incredibly stupid, because the man offered her an amused smile.

"Think about it. You've been calling me 'Harold', because you didn't care to remember my name. You even said it yourself," he reminded her. "The only people who had managed to get close to you, are, at the same time, the ones who had managed to impress you. Your boss, Auror Fabré... Auror Colbert."

The woman averted her gaze and scowled at the mention of Jacques' name. Herbert must have noticed her sudden discomfort, because he fell silent and shifted on his chair again.

"Is this about him?"

How did he know that? Was it really this obvious, or was he reading her mind? Clarisse decided that it didn't really matter; she wasn't going to tell him about her other _problems_. They weren't his business anyway.

"My boss wants me to infiltrate a Muggle club. Apparently, my social skills aren't _suitable_ for that kind of a job," she said and Herbert sighed quietly. He didn't buy her story, although it was true. Deschamps really wanted her to do that, but his solution to her obvious lack of necessary tools to mingle with people, was fairly simple. He just ordered her to _stop acting like Clarisse_.

"Well, you're talking to me right now, aren't you?" Herbert smiled warmly and shrugged. "It's not that you don't know how to do it. You just choose not to. Being nice is not a weakness. Caring is not a weakness."

Right. Because worrying about other people didn't sound like a waste of time, _at all_. Did he really think that she would have been so good at her job, if she was running around, asking everyone about their _feelings_? Shit... Maybe she really was incapable of understanding basic human relations? Maybe she was too fucked up to change?

"Caring was that one thing that turned you and Jacques into such great partners," Herbert said with a smile and Clarisse frowned. "You've said that fighting together changed things and that's true. But you wouldn't have done it, if you didn't care. Throwing yourself in front of someone else's body goes against our primal instinct of survival."

"I know that. It was _stupid_. What good would it do, if we had both died?" She rolled her eyes and Herbert sighed once again.

"No, Clarisse. It isn't stupid. It's what partners _do_. I may not know much about your work, but I'm sure as hell you wouldn't be so effective, if you didn't understand each other. And you wouldn't have understood each other, if you hadn't spent time trying to achieve that. If you hadn't _cared_ ," he explained, shaking his head. "Caring about people doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger, because it allows you to see things that would normally escape your attention. Because it drives you to be _extraordinary_."

Clarisse fiddled with her fingers, thinking about his words. Something about them felt familiar, but she couldn't tell what it was. The warmth spreading throughout her body proved to soothe her earlier annoyance and she spent a minute to actually ponder on Herbert's theory.

"Caring leads to hurt," she finally muttered and frowned. "If you care about someone, then everything that person does affects you. It makes you vulnerable."

"I guess it does, in a way. But it also feels exhilarating to know that there's someone, who could crush you, but chooses not to do it. Because it works both ways, Clarisse. It's not just _you_ who's vulnerable. The other person might hold your heart in their grasp, but you hold _theirs_ as well. That's what trust is all about."

"But some people _choose_ to crush you," she protested and clenched her fists. "They make you care and open yourself up, just so they could leave you. Others simply use you to fulfil their own fantasies and they claim to do it in the name of said _feelings_. How can _that_ be exhilarating?"

She met Herbert's gaze and found him smiling with sadness. He looked like he knew something that had managed to escape her attention. A big secret that should have been clear to her, but wasn't.

"I think we've just arrived at the bottom of the problem, Clarisse," he said. "People aren't perfect. You know it better than anyone else, seeing that you chase killers and psychos on daily basis. But they are called the _deviants_ for a reason. Most people are normal. They try to be the best versions of themselves, for those around them. It doesn't always work. We hurt each other, we cry, we fight and then we laugh again. Being hurt allows you to grow. Even if the pain seems unbearable, we've been designed to push through it and keep on living."

"Tell that to all of those people suffering from depression, or those abused, or..."

"Or to someone, who's been hurt so much that they prefer to simply ignore emotions whatsoever?" He smiled and Clarisse closed her eyes angrily. "There's no perfect way to do this, Clarie. And you're right, we shouldn't strive for perfection just because others tell us to. We should do it, because living always was and always will be the biggest challenge out of them all. And feelings are just a part of it. They don't make you week. They just make you _human_."

* * *

"Remind me, where exactly are you here with me and why was I forced to wear _a dress_?" Clarisse asked Finley and heard him chuckle in response.

They were walking down the street, getting closer and closer to their destination, which certainly did nothing to ease Bouchard's nerves. Being forced to go _undercover_ could be stressful on its own, but her company and current appearance only made things worse. She wished they could have just Apparated straight into the club, but it wasn't an option. All these Muggles inside kind of made sure of that.

"Potter is too recognizable and Ashworth's still with his wife. Besides, he's too old to go clubbing."

"What about Fabré? He's not that old and he's a great dancer!"

"Oh, you're right," Finley admitted and grinned. "He didn't go with you, because I volunteered first."

For fuck's sake, she should have known he would do something like this. Clarisse had no idea what had happened to their hateful relations, but apparently they evolved into the weirdest _partnership_ ever. It consisted mostly of pissing each other off and making the other one miserable, but she found herself unable to think about killing him in more than hundred different ways. It used to be a thousand.

"Why would you do that?" she muttered and offered him a sharp look. "For all I know, _delicacy_ is going to be my strong asset during this mission."

To her surprise, he laughed out loud, catching the attention of the nearby group of girls. They all giggled, looking him over, which made Clarisse furious. Couldn't they see that Finley was _busy_?!

"I almost forgot that I used to dislike you for being a woman," he said and smiled mockingly. "If it wasn't for that dress, I'd probably even forget about you being a woman at all."

Did she say that she could think of only a hundred ways to kill him? He was certainly trying to get back to a thousand.

"Thanks, Finley. You can be such a sweetheart, when you decide to pull your head out of your ass," she spat and sped up, trying not to kill herself in her ridiculously high heels. "Such a pity that it _never happens_."

"Oh, come on! I've just told you that you look very nice!" He laughed and flung his arm over her shoulders, slowing her down considerably.

"No, you've just told me..."

"I was kidding, pumpkin," he interrupted and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'd have to be gay not to appreciate your looks."

Another part of their _weird partnership_ , was the fact that Finley found it hilarious that she had no idea how to act when he tried to flirt with her. Her standard procedure in those situations, was to look at him murderously and mumble something incoherent. Then, she proceeded to offend him, completely ignoring his amused expression.

Truth to be told, Clarisse didn't really know how to feel about him. The beginning of their relationship hadn't been... pleasant. Actually, she was pretty sure she hated him, but after what happened between them... Even she didn't have it in her to treat him exactly the same, after he had held her and wiped her tears away. The thought of their relations changing so rapidly made her anxious and she tried to distance herself from him as much as possible, but, of course, Aedan Finley had no intentions of allowing that to happen.

"That's very shallow," she said, pushing aside her thoughts. "You should appreciate my skills, rather than my looks."

"Fine. Your Stunner is pretty mean," Aedan laughed in response and raised his brows. "What else can you do?"

 _Shove your stupid comments so far up your arse that they'd come out of your mouth again_ , she thought, but chose not to share that particular comment with him. Clarisse really needed to focus on the job, instead of those stupid quarrels.

"Well, you're about to see," she answered and stopped, facing the club across the street.

Even from such a distance, she could tell that it probably looked like every other dance club. The music was so loud that it escaped to the outside, making Clarisse want to scowl. She really didn't understand how Muggles could enjoy having their ears raped over and over by those aggressive beats. Her theory was that it had something to do with the state of _inebriation_ , but, unfortunately, she couldn't exactly test that theory. No drinking on the job, that was the rule.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Finley's quiet voice gained her attention and she looked at him with surprise. The man seemed concerned, although he tried to hide it behind the façade of a smirk, but she couldn't be so easily fooled.

"I don't have a choice, Aedan. He targets Oracles and I'm... Well, it's safe to say that I'm our best bet." She scowled and averted her gaze, facing the club again. "I'll be okay. I've been assigned to this team for a reason, you know."

Aedan must have decided that he wasn't going to get a better confirmation out of her, because he chuckled and said:

"Try not to stun everyone. And I don't mean only with a spell. Your ass seems equally dangerous."

He winked at her and crossed the street, not wanting to blow her cover of a lonely girl, looking for excitement. Clarisse knew that she had to follow him, but his comment got her, once again, completely baffled.

 _Damn you, Aedan Finley_ , she thought and started walking towards the club, swaying her dangerous ass from side to side. It was time to put on a show.


	15. Chapter 15: The Shock

The club looked completely inconspicuous; it was a classic picture of a Muggle party, as far as Clarisse knew. She would have never thought that this place served another purpose, especially not the one it apparently did. Why would the Seers even want to spend their time in such a club? It was loud, crowded and filled with people so drunk, that they could barely stand. Was it because of the fact that they could simply be themselves here, without the fear that someone is going to actually believe in their abilities?

Clarisse didn't have to understand the Seers' reasons to do her job. Maybe she lacked the social skills necessary to befriend those people dancing in the middle of the club, but she surely possessed the ability to _blend in_. She walked up to the bar and smiled at the bartender, who was fixing a drink for another customer. She waited patiently for him to finish and then said:

"What can you recommend?" Riss gestured to the many alcohol bottles behind the man and tilted her head to the side. The bartender smiled at her and leaned over the counter, closing the distance between them.

"Depends on what you're looking for," he answered and put his weight on his elbows, eyeing her curiously.

"I like my drinks strong and neat."

He laughed at her response and grabbed a bottle of whisky. He poured it into a glass and pushed it in her direction. Clarisse took a sip of the liquid and smiled, when it burned her throat.

"Good," she said and put the glass on the counter, knowing that she couldn't exactly get drunk on the job. Blending into a crowd of people having fun was one thing, but, unfortunately, she still needed to keep her senses sharp. "That's a cool place," Riss mentioned and gestured to the club behind her, while the bartender shrugged.

"I guess. Nothing really special about it, though."

"Is that true?" she asked and raised her eyebrows with amusement. "My friend told me that she's met a clairvoyant here once. A _real one_." Clarisse rolled her eyes, making the man chuckle.

"Yeah, we get a lot of _real ones_ here," he laughed and shook his head. "If you're asking me, they're a bunch of lunatics, but they don't cause any troubles. Usually."

"Usually?"

"Well... The future is not always pleasant, right?" He grinned at her and Clarisse couldn't stop herself from giggling. What was in that whiskey? "When they _foresee_ someone's death, or whatever, people tend to freak out. We've never had much problems, though."

Clarisse fell silent for a moment, thinking about her next question. She had to be careful. Raising suspicions wasn't something she wanted to do achieve, but the bartender seemed relaxed and chill. It probably wouldn't hurt to prod him a little bit.

"Are those prophecies..." she started and then frowned, grabbing her glass and swirling the liquid inside. "You know. Do they ever come true?"

The man stopped smiling and frowned, looking at Clarisse intently. He didn't look alarmed; if anything, his face showed signs of surprise and wonder, so the woman decided to stick around and wait for his response.

"I don't believe in those bollocks," he answered slowly and then bit his lip. He clearly wanted to say something else, but couldn't find the right words. Clarisse smiled and shrugged.

"Me neither. Or that's what I've been telling myself all this time."

"But you're here," he said and she scowled.

"Yeah. I'm here. That clearly means something, huh?"

He fell silent for a moment and then looked around, clearly making sure that there were no customers waiting to be served. Apparently, Clarisse chose the perfect moment to come up to him, because everyone seemed to be engrossed in the thrill of the party, rather than in search for new drinks.

"Most of those mentalists are... well, mental. But there are some, who look at you and you get the feeling that they really _see_. I mean, everything. It's like they are glancing into your very soul, you know?"

Oh, she did. Clarisse held a strong conviction that it was one of the first things that all the Seers learned. Her mother possessed a great ability to make her daughter unable to lie, or even attempt to lie. All it took, was that piercing stare.

"There were few girls..." the bartender said and hesitated for a moment. Apparently, he still wasn't sure if admitting to believe in those things was a good thing to do. She smiled reassuringly and he chose to continue. "I'm a bartender. People talk to me, whether I want it, or not. Those girls were unusually quiet, and when they finally spoke, the things they've said..."

"What things?" Clarisse picked up instantly, trying not to shift with excitement. Judging by the look on his face, she succeeded.

"That's the interesting part. Most of those clairvoyants tend to be dramatic. They drop some bombshells on you, like: 'Your deceased mother is very proud of you', 'You're going to find your other half soon', or something similarly ridiculous. But those girls talked about the small things. Things that _no one_ could have known. One of them once told me that I should buy some coffee, because I'm running out. Next morning I woke up, only to find out that I have no coffee. The other told me not to plan anything on Monday, because I'm going to get a significant phone call. My sister got into a car accident and had to be taken to a hospital that day," he said and frowned. "I mean, how do you explain that?"

Clarisse didn't have the right answer for him. Unless someone broke into his apartment to steal the coffee, and purposefully harmed his sister, there was _no_ answer, other than the obvious. Those girls could really see into the future.

"Are those girls here?" she asked, giving her voice a hopeful tone. Clarisse didn't want to make him feel questioned, so she had to make him believe that she actually wanted to see her own future.

"No. I've only seen them once," he said and then a shadow crossed his face. "Well, not once. Twice, both of them. The first time was here, the second was in the papers. Apparently, some psycho killed them."

Her heart jumped at the bartender's grim words, and she hoped that her excitement couldn't be seen. It was safe to assume that their theory was right and that the killer really picked his victims _here_. Hell, he could even be here, in this very moment.

"That's... Terrible," she muttered and took another sip of her drink, hoping that Finley wouldn't report her to Deschamps.

"It's scary, that's what it is. I don't know why would anyone want to kill those girls. Sure, they were a bit _weird,_ but that's not a reason to take away their lives," the bartender said and sighed. "Someone probably decided that their predictions aren't _normal_ , that they are _freaks_. The world has progressed so much, and yet still there are people, who would love to start another witch hunt."

Clarisse almost smiled at his words, knowing that the man couldn't have been more right. Just as the Wizards had their own prejudices, Muggles acted exactly the same. Wizards didn't understand the technology; they believed it to be a necessary substitute for Magic. Clarisse couldn't picture life without being a witch, but even she had to admit that Muggles had developed so many amazing things, that the Wizards, even with their power, wouldn't stand a chance against them.

The Muggles, on the other hand, had dreamt of Magic, and feared it at the same time. They wrote fantasy books, created multiple worlds, where all their dreams came true, but at the same time, they were closed off to the possibility of magical people living among them. Weird meant _bad._ If someone didn't fit into their expectations of a _perfect being_ , they were cast out of the society.

Clarisse really appreciated the irony in all that. Magic, or no Magic, all of them were _human_. They had different things that scared them, but in the end, they were just the same.

"People can be cruel," she said, pushing aside her thoughts and focusing on the reality. "I don't think that _evil_ can ever be banished from the world. Even with all our knowledge, we're still stupid. I mean, look at me," Clarisse laughed humourlessly and shook her head. "I'm claiming to be a reasonable realist, and yet I've ventured here to find the answers to the questions that cannot be answered."

The bartender clearly wanted to say something, but a customer approached the bar, demanding his attention. He only sighed and offered her a gentle smile.

"I hope you'll find those answers anyway."

Yeah. She hoped so too.

* * *

Mingling with people was easier than she expected. One thing that was common for all the drunk people, was their openness. She partially understood why the Seers chose to attend these parties. It was a place of joy and fun. Even if they were aware of some of the bad things that were about to occur in other people's lives, here those things seemed as far away as possible.

The questions she asked were similar. Was it true that the clairvoyants came here? Could she really meet them? Were they _for real_? Clarisse hoped that some of the customers would be able to point her in the direction of a man, who happened to come here a lot for quite some time now, but, unfortunately, no one seemed to remember such a person. It was incredibly irritating, but the Auror knew that blaming drunk people for poor observational skills was completely pointless.

Her initial excitement faded away with every second. She started to think that the murderer was even more careful than one could presume. The confirmation that the victims really were here certainly offered some hope, but it still didn't bring her any closer to actually catching the killer. The basic questions of every investigation were still unanswered. What did the culprit look like? Did he have any special characteristics? How old was he? Where did he come from?

Everything was still a mystery, and Clarisse started to grow really tired. The crowd, no matter how joyous and energetic, sucked out her willingness to put on a smile and pretend to fit into the group. She had a feeling that she was going to come up empty-handed, yet again, and it wasn't a positive thought.

She was about to look around to find Finley, when a shiver crawled up her spine, and she froze on the spot. Clarisse knew better than to believe in every hunchshe experienced, but that _feeling_... That feeling couldn't be ignored. She felt as though someone was watching her, with force of a dozen stares. Clarisse turned around and searched the crowd frantically, trying to find the source of her anxiousness.

Everything seemed perfectly in order. No one paid attention to her figure, just as no one was doing anything suspicious. Yet, she didn't stop searching, knowing that she simply _couldn't_ be wrong.

"Is everything alright?" The girl Clarisse was talking to yelled in her ear, noticing the sudden change of tension in the Auror's body. There was no concern in her voice, just curiosity, and Riss decided against focusing her attention on the girl.

"Yes. I just thought I've seen someone I know."

"Oooh!" the girl exclaimed and shifted excitedly, judging by the rustling of the sequins on her dress. "Is he a _guy_?"

"Mm, I don't know," she answered absentmindedly and frowned. She had to find that person _somehow_. What if it was the killer?

"You don't know?" the girl asked again, clearly baffled. "How can you not know?"

"Sorry, I have to go." With that, Clarisse walked into the crowd, her heart thumping loudly inside her chest.

She didn't even know why she picked that direction, but something told her that it was a good one, nonetheless. She was about to leave the dance floor, when someone grabbed her hand, forcing her out of a trance and scaring her to death. Clarisse inhaled sharply, when she spotted Aedan's familiar face. It was clear that he wasn't the one watching her, but at least he meant her no harm.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. Apparently, he _did_ watch her closely, because he wouldn't be angry at her for leaving a potential witness behind otherwise.

"I thought that someone was watching me. I want to find out who," she answered and forced her wrist out of his grip.

She was about to walk away, when a silhouette of a man caught her eye. Suddenly, Clarisse felt as though she forgot how to breathe. The time stopped for a moment, and her vision blurred out everything, but the figure standing near the bar, talking to a young girl. Finley shook her arm, trying to wake her up, but she couldn't find it in her to even acknowledge his presence.

Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing, but Kylian Bouchard, her long lost father, standing next to the bar. Alive.


	16. Chapter 16: The Pain

She didn't remember much. Funny, how it all became a blur in just a matter of minutes. To be honest, she wished that memories from that evening could simply disappear and never come back. Clarisse didn't want to remember her father, alive and well, standing in a Muggle bar, like he didn't have family _somewhere_. She also didn't want to remember anything that came after seeing him.

"Auror Bouchard, do you know why you're here?"

A strange, unfamiliar voice said, and Clarisse raised her eyes, looking at a tall man in fancy robes. Something told her that she'd seen these kind of robes before, and that seeing them _now_ couldn't mean anything even remotely good. She dismissed those thoughts, focusing on more important things, like the numbing feeling consuming her entire heart.

In a way, she felt completely detached from not only her emotions, but also everything that happened around her. She couldn't care less for the magical handcuffs on her wrists, or for the stern look on the strange man's face. It didn't really matter.

"Auror Bouchard?"

Clarisse sighed and decided that the man wasn't going to simply stop pestering her. She had to give him some answers, even if they would turn out completely irrelevant.

"I'm here, because I've used Magic in front of a bunch of Muggles," she said and shrugged. "No big deal, it happens."

"No, Auror. It doesn't," the man answered and Clarisse scowled, knowing that he was probably right. It didn't happen to the workers of the Ministry. Usually.

"I've had a good reason," she murmured and looked down, to her cuffed hands. "That bloody bastard doesn't even remember me. Or he just pretends..."

"Who are you referring to?"

Clarisse didn't answer right away. Instead, she frowned, trying to recall every second of that _meeting_ , against her better judgement. She didn't want to remember it, but she simply had to. Throwing her career away wasn't exactly a brilliant idea. She had to know that there was a reason for doing so.

"How can you forget your entire family, huh?" she asked, not paying attention to the man's question. "Okay, he disappeared when I was still a kid, but you don't _forget_ things like that."

"Auror Bouchard..."

"Do you have a wife?"

"It's not relevant to the..."

"Answer me!" she interrupted and slammed her hand against the table, ignoring the pain in her wrists. The man jumped up at the sound , looking at something behind her, and Clarisse guessed that he sought aid in his co-workers hiding behind the charmed glass -another great idea stolen from Muggles.

"I do. I have a wife and daughter," he finally answered, making Clarisse's expression soften.

"Would you leave them? Leave them, and let them believe you were dead? It's been twenty years. That's how long he was out there, completely fine and unharmed, while my mother and I believed he was _dead._ "

"Who?"

Clarisse took a deep breath, surprised at how steady it was. Maybe her outburst turned out to be a good thing. Maybe all of the emotions, all of the anger and hatred left her body with the spells she'd cast upon her father. Maybe she simply had nothing left inside of her.

"Kylian Bouchard. Don't pretend like you don't know him. He was an Auror, and a bloody good one at that."

"I've never met him. Are you sure that the man you've attacked is your father?"

"You think I'd be able to forget my father's face?" she said and smiled with bitterness. "Like I said, I had a pretty good reason."

"Even if it really is him, you broke the law, Auror," the man stated, but his voice lacked its stern tone from earlier. "There were a lot of Muggles in that club. You've endangered our entire community."

"I know." Clarisse nodded and shrugged. "I just didn't care. I couldn't have done anything else."

"You could have let Auror Finley handle everything. You could have waited for..."

"Would _you_ wait?" she spat and clenched her fists, deciding that some of her anger must still be hidden inside her body. "Would you be able to act like a perfect machine, when your life comes crumbling down on top of your head?"

The man fell silent and glanced at the glass once again. Just like before, no aid came from that direction, because he looked back at her with a compassionate expression.

"I'm afraid it doesn't matter, what I would've done."

"No. It really doesn't," she smiled and closed her eyes for a moment. "I suppose I can say good bye to my career, huh?"

"It's not decided yet. For now, you're suspended. There will be a disciplinary hearing. Until then, you are banned from doing anything even remotely close to your job. The case you've been working on, is officially out of your hands, and you will be replaced by someone else."

Clarisse really didn't want to show how much his words hurt her, but even with her effort, she was sure that some of the pain had reached her face. Still, she didn't protest, or flinch. She simply accepted it.

"Can you at least take these handcuffs off?" she asked and smiled bitterly. "I might not be an Auror, but I'm still a witch, aren't I?"

"Yes, of course," he answered and took out his hand to release her wrists. After a second, she could move her hands again, knowing that even regained freedom couldn't make her happy. "You can go. Stay out of trouble, Auror."

Clarisse stood up and offered the man a stiff nod. She left the room, feeling completely unlike herself. She just wanted to go home and possibly get wasted. What else was she supposed to do anyway?

Unfortunately, Aedan Finley standing on the corridor with a half concerned, half angry expression, made her plan impossible.

"How did it go?" he asked, as soon as he spotted her, and Clarisse offered him a reluctant glance.

"I'm suspended. Not for long, though, cause after the disciplinary hearing I'll probably get fired," she answered and wanted to walk past him, but he didn't let her.

His hand caught her wrist, reminding her about the handcuffs that were there a couple of minutes earlier.

"What were you thinking, Bouchard?" he asked angrily and Clarisse fought the urge to curse him as well. She didn't have to explain herself to him, and she certainly wasn't going to do so.

"I wasn't thinking, Finley. It just happened."

"You Stupified a complete stranger! What's with your constant need to stun people?!"

"He isn't a stranger," she answered calmly, and he closed his mouth in surprise. "I may be impulsive, but did you really think that I would curse someone just because he looked at me the wrong say? In a club full of Muggles?"

"I don't know, Clarisse. It certainly didn't look like something _justifiable_."

"That man is my father," she said and averted her gaze.

"Your father? But I thought..."

"That he's dead? Yeah, well. Me too. I've been convinced that he's gone. Turns out, he wasn't. He just _left_ us. And he claims not to know who I am," she explained, forcing Finley to frown.

"Clarisse... I've been the one interrogating him. I really don't think he knows you. He is a wizard, but he doesn't have a family. He was terrified."

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, unable to take Finley's words calmly. Unless he was under the influence of Polyjuice Potion, or some very efficient masking spells, he _had to_ be her father. Even after all these years of not seeing his face, and not hearing his voice, the moment she had laid her eyes on him, she simply _knew_.

"Then he's a better liar, than I thought. Show his face to any older Auror in the department. Show his face to Deschamps and he will tell you that I'm right," Clarisse said, trying to calm herself. "I'm not lying. I probably shouldn't have cursed him, but some things... Some things, you just can't help."

Aedan fell silent for a moment, and then did the strangest thing –he pulled her close and hugged fiercely, burying his face in her hair. Clarisse went stiff for a moment, not knowing what to do about this sudden outburst of emotions, but she decided that she didn't have to act like a bitch all the time. There was something comforting about his warmth and the way he smelled. Riss couldn't tell what it was, but it made her reciprocate his gesture. She let herself sink into his arms and stop thinking, just for one second.

"I'm not going to let them fire you, Clarisse."

"Aedan, you don't really have the power to do anything. You may be an Auror, but you're not from here."

"Fine," he mumbled and she felt his hand caress her back tenderly. "But Deschamps is not going to let you go down without a fight. I really can't believe I'm saying this, but you're damn good at your job."

Despite everything, she couldn't stop herself from smirking. It felt weirdly satisfying to hear that from Finley's mouth, and she decided that she was rather proud of making him change his mind.

"I can't say I expected to hear that," she said and frowned against his shirt.

"Yeah, well. I wasn't expecting to say this. I was taught to protect you, take care of you. It's rather hard not to perceive you as _delicate_ , when I've been thinking that my whole life."

She pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. Clarisse was surprised to see that his eyes were filled with tenderness and something else, which she couldn't define. Whatever it was, it made shivers run up her spine.

"Why? Medieval times have ended a long time ago. Women are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves."

"I've spent my entire childhood watching my mother struggle to raise three children, basically on her own. My father was never there, and she was just one person. She did a great job, but it tooksomething away from her. She's probably one of the strongest people I know, but she doesn't smile even half as much as she used to. She sacrificed her youth to become the best mother in the world, and she got nothing in return. Nothing, but loneliness and no support. And it broke her."

Clarisse didn't know how to feel about Aedan's honesty, but a part of her wanted to simply return the favour and hug him fiercely, just so he knew that she was _there_. It felt _weird_ to be struck with an urge such as this one, but she decided that nothing in her life seemed normal anymore. She decided to simply forget about her usual demeanour and, for once, listen to her heart. Surprisingly, it seemed to know _a lot_ about human behaviour. Clarisse wrapped her arms around his waist, and Finley stiffened for a moment, clearly abashed. It didn't take him long to pull her close once again.

"The mere idea of witnessing that process ever again _disgusts_ me, Clarie," he mumbled quietly and let out a shaky breath.

"So you think that by pointing out our weaknesses, you can prove to us that we're not suitable for the job, therefore _protecting_ us from its harmful influence?" she asked and snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"Yeah. I know that now," he answered and pulled back a bit, only to caress her cheek tenderly. "There's nothing wrong in being delicate... But there's also nothing wrong in being strong. And you've made me realise that not every woman has to change drastically to be tough. I'm pretty sure you were _born this way_ ," he laughed and then his gaze intensified, making her feel a bit uneasy. Suddenly, she became aware of the fact that their bodies were still touching, and that she could almost feel his breath on her face. A vague smell of peppermint, mixed with some kind of citrus, reached her nose, and she decided that she really liked it.

"No. No, I wasn't," she said and scowled. "I grew up, watching my father. All I wanted, was to be like him. Hell, I wanted to _become_ him. He has taught me _everything,_ he's made me who I am today, even if I was only a little girl when he left. You see, that's what made him such a brilliant Auror. He had such a great charisma that people wanted to follow him to the end of the world. Even after years of his absence, I still..." She stopped herself, feeling her cheeks starting to warm up from sudden embarrassment.

"You still what?"

"I still want to make him proud," Clarisse whispered and looked down, not wanting to meet his intense gaze. "I still dream about hearing him say that I've grown up to be a _fine woman_. It's been twenty years, Aedan. It's been _fucking long_ , but at the same time, not long enough to forget _everything_. So why did he forget?"

"I don't know, Clarie." Finley's response came in a whisper too, but even so, she could tell that his voice was filled with a lot of emotions. It made her heart skip a beat, even if she didn't know what to make of it. "But I will find out. I promise you that. There are a lot of questions that need to be answered, and I'm not going to stop, until I've done so."

It was in that moment, when she realised that somewhere along the way, she started to trust him. Just like that, he stopped being a pain in the ass, and started to be her partner. They didn't have to bleed together, or save each other's lives. It was never about that.

Their mutual understanding had come from a much deeper place and that thought both scared and thrilled her. Because she didn't know how to feel about opening herself up to another person, but at the same time her heart wanted to sing. She wasn't alone anymore. And maybe it really wasn't such a bad thing.

* * *

The silence enveloping her mother's house had never felt more soothing. Clarisse decided that it was easier to gather her own thoughts, when there was no one there to pester her about some non-important things. Here, it was easier to focus on those feelings that started to resurface once again, after she'd realised that everything that had happened, wasn't just a sick dream. No... Her father was alive, and he clearly wasn't a _dream_. Nightmare would be a better word, but Clarisse wasn't sure if it described the complexity of the situation she had found herself in.

She was in pain. Obviously, it had nothing to do with any sorts of physical injuries, but she'd rather have three broken ribs and an internal bleeding, than feel _this_ bad. The initial shock of seeing her father had worn off, leaving her with a raging feeling of betrayal and hurt that clouded her judgement completely. It was impossible to think about something else, than the scene in that Muggle bar. It was hard to forget the cracking of her voice, when she walked up to the familiar man and called him her _father_. While she couldn't forget the sound of her own voice, it would be a dream come true to forget his reaction upon hearing it. That look of pure disbelief and confusion was bound to haunt her dreams, making her scream out loud in straight-up agony.

She didn't even remember most of their conversation. The sentences that had left her mouth could hardly be described as _sensible_. How could one choose their words, after twenty years of silence, or one-sided conversations? How could she ever decide what should she say first?

Not that it mattered. Because even if she had made the right choice, it still wouldn't change a thing. It wouldn't wash away his shocked expression, half confused, half terrified. It wouldn't make him pull her into a warm, familiar embrace, just as it wouldn't turn them into a normal family. It couldn't even make him _remember_.

"Clarisse, what are you doing here?" Her mother's voice reached her ears, and she realised that losing herself in her pain had proved to be even easier than she'd thought. She raised her gaze slowly, only to find her mother standing at the top of the stairs with a surprised expression.

"It's quiet in here," Riss answered and bit the inside of her cheek, realising that it was only a part of her reasons for coming here.

Eugenia Bouchard might have been her complete opposite. They might have fought for the greater part of Clarisse's life, but they'd never stopped being a family. Not even for a second. There wasn't a better place to heal hear wounds, than _home_. And there wasn't a better person to do it with, than her _mother._

"I saw him, mom," she said, watching Eugenia stiffen instantly. "He was in that bar, you've told us about."

"Clarie..."

"I swear it was him. I know what I saw."

"Who are you talking about?" Her mother's voice sounded completely empty, telling Clarisse that the question was a mere formality. Eugenia knew more than well, who she was talking about.

"Father. I saw father."

Eugenia looked at her for a minute in complete silence, and then she slowly walked down the stairs, joining Clarisse on the couch. It certainly wasn't a reaction she'd expected, but her mother could hardly be described as normal. Maybe she was just in shock, like Clarisse had initially been in? Either way, her face reminded Riss of an untouched surface of a lake.

"So, he's alive," Eugenia said and cleared her throat. "A part of me always knew that."

"He doesn't remember us. He claims to have no family."

Her mother looked at her sharply, and this time, Clarisse had no doubts that she was surprised.

"He has no recollection of..."

"No," Clarisse said and clenched her fist, anger returning to her in a blink of an eye, overshadowing the pain for a brief moment.

"How is that possible?" Eugenia asked and her eyes started to glisten. "How... We're... I-... I- What happened? What happened, Clarie?"

Clarisse opened her mouth and started to tell the same story she'd already told before. She didn't even have to think about her words, they were already so rehearsed and practiced. It was easier that way. She didn't have to force herself to relieve the same emotions over and over, and over. She didn't have to scratch her aching wounds, before they even got the chance to heal.

It was hard to watch her mother's tears. It was even harder to stop her own from flowing down her face in a steady rhythm, but she tried to do it anyway. Pretending to be strong, to be unmoved turned out to be completely pointless, because as soon as her mother's arms wrapped themselves around her figure, she broke apart. And it didn't feel _wrong_.

She almost wanted to laugh at the sudden realisation that all she needed to finally accept emotions, was to be so overwhelmed by them that she simply had no other choice than let them all out. Clarisse wished that none of this had ever happened, but at the same time... At the same time, the pain made her feel _alive_. It was a testimony of her life being something more, than a dream, an illusion. Because it was real, while her façade of unbreakable strength _wasn't_.

Just like that, she suddenly understood what Herbert meant. And it made things a bit easier.


	17. Chapter 17: The Capture

It didn't make sense. No matter how long had she thought about it, her mind refused to come up with a plausible explanation. A couple of days ago, she would have simply blamed it on the overwhelming emotions, but today, things were different. There was no pain and anger to cloud her judgement, no disappointment to make her confused... Clarisse just wanted to think everything through and find the answers to questions that wouldn't stop nagging her.

Technically, she shouldn't even be thinking about the case. Hell, if anyone found out that she still tried to solve it, she could say goodbye to her career, even before the disciplinary hearing. Fortunately, no one was going to break into her mind, so as long as she kept things to herself, her _freedom_ was relatively safe. Except she couldn't find the answers she was so desperately looking for, and it drove her crazy.

Clarisse Bouchard didn't really believe in power of coincidences. Sure enough, sometimes things just happened, without a logical explanation. But this? This didn't _just happen_. Her father, who had been gone for the past twenty years, shouldn't have appeared out of nowhere in the exact same place she'd just visited. But he did. And she couldn't explain it. At least not without leaving her apartment.

Merlin, she was so frustrated. She'd already cleaned her place three times, laundered all of her clothes, including those occupying the depths of her drawers... There was _literally_ nothing to stop her from thinking, analysing and plotting, so she spent her entire days doing just that. It resulted in at least four different scenarios that could end up giving her the answers, without jeopardizing her career completely.

Clarisse stood up with a growl and walked up to the window, gazing at the relatively calm street outside. Her heart was beating fast, like she was doing something suspicious, but she couldn't exactly help it. Controlling her impulses didn't qualify as her forte, especially not in the last couple of days. Riss preferred to act, rather than let other people do the job for her. And she knew that saying goodbye to her career wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. It was much worse to just do _nothing_.

With a quick turn, she decided to leave her hesitation behind. She messed up, but she could still fix it, even if she had to forget about her biggest dream of becoming a legendary Auror.

* * *

It wasn't difficult to obtain some Polyjuice potion. Actually, Clarisse considered it a child's play. Sure enough, the Ministry did everything in its power to control the distribution of that dangerous concoction, but not everyone was interested in cooperating. Some of the traders stopped selling it only _officially._ They were good enough, though, to make itimpossible to prove something to them, even if it didn't take much to figure out their real game.

Finding one of these traders had been easy, just as fooling them into believing she was just an ordinary civilian. They'd never seen her face before, since she worked homicides, and her acting skills were quite okay, especially when she needed to act like a _deranged_ person. Clarisse never understood why traders considered that kind of people completely harmless. She wasn't going to start thinking about that _now_ , though.

Next step, was to find a suitable hair, which sounded even easier. She didn't even have to search for it far from home. Clarisse decided that her safest choice would be to simply steal one from her mother. The chances of anyone from the Ministry recognizing her were pretty slim, since no one really knew what she looked like. Aedan was the only person from their team, who'd met her, and it would be pretty easy to fool him into believing that she really was Eugenia. Going as her mother would also provide her with undeniable advantage; maybe the woman didn't go there often, but she wasn't a complete stranger. If someone from the clients recognized her, they might be more inclined to help her. And Clarisse really needed some help.

The sun had set a couple of hours before, making it even easier to blend in. No one paid attention to Clarisse's make-up, which looked slightly different than her mother's usual. Merlin knew, she had absolutely _no artistic skills,_ and using eyeliner required quite a bit of them. Instead, she opted for something she was fairly sure she could pull off –mascara and a blood red lipstick that matched her classy, black dress _perfectly_.

The hardest thing about going back to that place, was undoubtedly the memory of what had happened there during her last visit. Her plan may have been quite good, but she still couldn't exclude the possibility that _something_ could go wrong. She couldn't tell what would she have done, if her father was there. Would she curse him again? Or maybe let him walk away, like he didn't mean anything to her? Clarisse certainly hoped that she could find the strength to choose the second option, because getting close to her father was completely out of question, unless she wanted to blow her so carefully prepared cover. No, she had to stay away. All she wanted, was to find some clues, and she needed to be quick about it.

There was no more room for hesitation, so she simply crossed the street and entered the club with confidence painted all over her face. It was the middle of the week, but the club was just as crowded as during her previous visit. Clarisse couldn't say that she wasn't grateful for that development, because practically no one noticed her arrival. Good. She wanted to keep a low profile, at least for now. Even watching the crowd could prove useful, and it was definitely the safest option.

Riss found an empty table and sat down gracefully, remembering to cross her legs like a _lady_. Her mother would rather die, than forget about something so crucial to her reputation. She didn't want to waste time, getting herself a drink. Eugenia didn't like alcohol very much anyway, since it _clouded her vision_. Clarisse never really tried to figure out, which vision she referred to, but it didn't matter now. Her mother's abstinence worked to her favour, after all .

Right away, Riss noticed a couple of familiar faces on the dance floor. Apparently, some people really liked the idea of spending their free time in a crowded, loud bar, getting wasted. She didn't understand it, but it certainly _pleased_ her. If they had been here during that memorable night, there was a fair chance that they knew all about clients in this place. Right now, she had a better sense of who to ask, than she did before.

It was time to _get to work_.

* * *

The night was _uneventful_ , to say the least. She had questioned so many people, that she lost count. Clarisse knew that she was running out of time, mostly because of the Polyjuice potion and its terrible taste. She truly felt for the Aurors that got stuck doing undercover missions. They had to drink that shit on daily basis, and Clarisse couldn't even stomach one night of it. Nonetheless, she had to hurry up, if she didn't want to come up with another plan to find some clues.

"Eugenia?!" It was hard to hear something over the roaring music, but Riss was sure that the voice behind her clearly called out her mother's name. Without hesitation she spun around, facing a man that looked somewhat familiar, even to her. It meant that he must have been her mother's good friend. "I can't believe it really is you!"

Clarisse had two choices. She could smile and pretend to know the man, or she could bail. Obviously, one option was safe, while the other could actually give her _something_. The decision turned out to be simple to make. The Auror smiled and forced her expression to feign pleasant surprise.

"It's been so long!" she exclaimed cheerfully and allowed the man to hug her fiercely.

"Last time I've seen you, Clarisse was running around, trying to steal your wand." The man laughed and Riss realised why did he seem familiar.

"Oh, she's definitely still running around," she said and waved her hand dismissively. "But I think she listens to me even less, than she did back then."

"That sounds like your daughter, Genie."

Clarisse had never heard anyone call her mother _that_ , but the man must have done it before. His voice bore no signs of hesitation; it was tender and weirdly affectionate, leading her to believe that he had played a _big_ part in her mother's past. It was certainly a strange realisation; her mother had a life, before she had become that lonely, closed-off person. Suddenly, Riss started to feel bad for treating her so poorly, but she knew that the time was not exactly right for showing some remorse.

"I've heard... about Kylian," he said, slightly hesitant, and Clarisse froze. "I wanted to come back, but... I wasn't sure if that'd make you happy."

"Why wouldn't it?" she asked, before she could stop herself. That man thought she _was_ Eugenia. She should know those things. "It was a difficult time. Not going through it alone would have made it a bit easier," Clarisse added and averted her gaze. She wasn't sure if the man had bought her little cover-up, but it certainly seemed that way.

"You were so furious with me. I just... Well, I _assumed_ something. I shouldn't have done it. I always thought that your place was by my side."

Riss frowned, unable to stop herself. Why would he say something like this? Her mother might have been an eccentric, but she would _never_ cheat on her husband, just as she would never leave her daughter. What was wrong with that guy?

"My place was with my husband and daughter," she stated coldly, surprised at how similar to Eugenia she sounded.

"So you don't regret staying? Not even after Kylian _left_ you?" the man asked with disbelief, making her even more confused and angry. What the hell happened between her mother and that bloke? Whatever it was, Clarisse started to _really_ dislike this entire conversation.

"He disappeared, there's a distinct difference," she corrected him in a similarly harsh tone. "And no, I don't regret. I never have."

Suddenly, all of the warmth disappeared from the man's face, making shivers run up her spine. Clarisse realised that he was probably hoping for a different answer, expecting it even. Maybe it was a mistake to tell him that? Maybe there was a serious reason for her mother's fury that the man had spoken of?

"You've always been blind, Genie. You could have owned the world, but you chose to stay with your _pathetic_ family. With Kylian, who was never home, and Clarisse, who couldn't care less for your desperate pleas, because all she could see was her father's _brilliance_."

Riss suddenly started to feel even worse for her mother. Just because he was angry and disappointed, didn't mean that he wasn't also telling the truth. Little Clarisse was a _nightmare._ She wanted to fight monsters, instead of running away from them, she wanted to learn how to duel, instead of listening to bed-time stories. For her mother, it had to feel terrible that her own daughter idolised her father, completely underappreciating her efforts.

The man mistook her discomposure for admittance that he was –indeed- right, and he smiled viciously. He no longer looked like a harmless, charming gentlemen. Actually, he looked rather predatory. Clarisse had seen too many criminals not to recognise the look. She swallowed hard, knowing that her mother wouldn't realise that the guy in front of her was dangerous. And that meant that Riss had to stay precisely where she was, pretending not to feel the tension.

"How dare you..." she started, but the man's smile grew even bigger, and even more malicious.

"Why are you here, Genie? Are you hoping to see your husband?" he mocked, forcing her to blink a couple of times, trying to connect the dots. How did he know about Kylian? How... "I'm afraid he might not appreciate your efforts very much. He doesn't really remember you, does he?"

Her mouth flew open at his words and the man laughed out loud, raising goose bumps on her skin. That laugh... That _fucking_ laugh sounded like something taken straight out of Muggle horror movies. If it hadn't been for her shock and confusion, Clarisse would undoubtedly mock his sense of drama. Unfortunately, the situation was way too serious.

"How can you know that?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. She didn't succeed though, as it broke a little, fuelling his satisfaction.

"I think it's hardly the best place for that story, huh?" he said and tilted his head to the side. His eyes seemed to see through her, forcing Clarisse to swallow yet again. "How about you come with me and I tell you _everything_ , my dear Genie?"

"I'm not going anywhere," she protested, but the man gripped her forearm with such a force that she had to clench her teeth to not let out a moan of pain.

"Yes, you are. That is, if you want your daughter to live. I've heard she's _feisty_. It would be such a shame if something has happened to her, don't you agree?"

"You... You bastard! Stay away from her!" she called weakly, realising that he was definitely capable of hurting someone.

"Oh, I will. Although it seems that she really doesn't want to stay away from _me_."

Clarisse felt all of the warmth evaporate from her entire body, when the realisation hit her. She had found her killer and her plan had officially backfired. She couldn't even use her Magic to escape. Not if she wanted him to go after her mother. For now, Eugenia was safe, and that was all that mattered.

She dropped her purse to the floor, leaving behind the Polyjuice potion. If there was even a slight chance that someone might go looking for her, she needed to help them, just as she needed to pretend to be her mother, for as long as possible. It was the least she could do. She sure hoped that it would be enough.


	18. Chapter 18: The Revelation

It was hard to tell how much time had passed, since she had found herself in that dark, humid basement. Actually, she started to feel so bored that she began counting every fleeting second, but it was hardly something one might call an occupation. Even shivering from the cold was more entertaining, especially that it allowed her to _survive_ , as her body needed to produce heat in order to _not_ freeze.

Her situation was terrible. Bloody hell, she had never expected to die in such a pathetic way, but unless the tables had turned miraculously, she would undoubtedly win the competition for the lousiest death in the history of French Ministry of Magic. The worst thing about the situation, was that she knew _exactly_ where she was. Knowing all the streets in Paris helped her count every turn and figure out their destination, even though she had been blindfolded. But what could she use that knowledge for? Clarisse had no way of contacting anyone. She couldn't even see the tip of her own nose, not mentioning finding an escape route.

She was royally _fucked_. The only thing, making everything better was the fact, the killer hadn't stopped by the basement in quite some time, which meant that he had absolutely no idea that she wasn't really Eugenia. He would certainly be in for a _great_ surprise, when he'd finally decided to check up on her, or at least, offer her some water or food.

Who was this guy? What did he want? Why had he done all of this? Those questions floated around her mind all the time, but no matter how hard she tried to find some explanation, she failed miserably. She couldn't have answered those questions before, and finding the man responsible for all those deaths didn't exactly change anything. A part of her wanted to laugh, knowing that apparently her entire life turned into one, great coincidence. What were the odds of the killer being her mother's _friend_? For fuck's sake, all of this started to look like a carefully prepared plot, to simply ruin her life. And she was inclined to believe that it could actually work.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door clicking and Clarisse felt herself grow almost motionless. For a second, she was even afraid to breathe, or move an inch. Partially, it was because she was afraid to see her captor, but it was also because she didn't want him to _leave_. She was sick of being alone, immersed into nothing but deafening silence.

Clarisse heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and then the entire room was flooded with dim light, making her eyes sting. They became so used to the darkness, that seeing light actually _hurt_ , which was probably what her captor wanted to achieve. She tried to fight off the urge to shot her eyelids, knowing that she couldn't afford letting the man out of her sight.

He stopped in front of her, looking at her with a great dose of surprise. Riss found the strength to smile mockingly, and the man laughed out loud, clearly amused.

"I must say, I did _not_ expect that," he said, still smiling. Clarisse cleared her throat, trying to see if she still knew how to speak.

"You should have. My mother stopped _clubbing_ a long time ago," she answered.

"Yes... Being a single mother must have taken its toll on her." He nodded, genuinely amused and rocked back and forth on his feet. "Especially if her daughter turned out to be a little devil, huh?"

Clarisse clenched her teeth and sent him a glare that did nothing to lessen his amusement. Merlin, how she wanted to simply wipe that smile of his face, cuff him and throw him into a cell with no handles. But first, she had to question him and then make it out alive of that fucking basement.

"Who are you?" she asked, ignoring his little comment. "I remember you vaguely from my childhood, but I don't recall your name."

"Why do you think I'd make the mistake of telling you?"

"You've already made the mistake of not knocking me out, when you transported me here. I know exactly where we are, so finding you again would be a child's play, whether I know your name, or not," she stated, and he laughed again, this time completely humourless.

"I see that you're just as naïve as your mother, dearie. You're assuming I'm going to let you walk out of here alive."

Actually, she wasn't so stupid to assume that. Her situation was terrible, if not hopeless, but she wasn't going to admit that to him. She refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

"Don't underestimate me."

"Oh, yes. You have skills." He nodded and smiled. "Kylian tells me you have a pretty mean Stunner." Clarisse froze at the mention of her father's name. She couldn't stop herself from fidgeting slightly, what didn't go unnoticed. "You're probably wondering how I've met him, aren't you?"

"What did you do to him?" she spat angrily, and her captor laughed.

"Don't you think he simply _likes_ me? We're friends, Clarisse. Best buddies."

"My father would never be friends with a _murderer_!"

"Sweet child... I haven't murdered anyone. Your father, on the other hand..."

"He's an Auror!" she yelled and closed her eyes for a moment. "There's a difference between killing in your own defence, and taking someone's life away for fun!"

"Oh, is there?" He smiled coldly and grabbed a chair, pulling it closer to her. He sat down and leaned forward on his elbows, looking at her cautiously. "I don't think it makes any difference to the victims. Besides, your father has killed more times, than you know. In fact, I believe you've spent the last months looking for him."

Her heart stopped for a second, only to speed up again, when she understood the meaning behind his words.

"But... You've said..."

"I never said that I'm not guilty in a way, Miss Bouchard. Actually, the only reason why your father was running around, killing those girls, was because I told him to. I picked them, and he charmed his way into their hearts, so he could convince them to take part in the ritual. You see, the ritual requires the participants to be _willing._ It doesn't say anything about them knowing what it truly does. "

She felt sick to her stomach, when she listened to his words. He sounded so _pleased_ with himself, that she wanted to puke right into his face. The man sitting in front of her, was truly disgusting, but she refused to believe that her father would have willingly sided with someone so vile.

"He would never..."

"Of course not. Not willingly, no," the man admitted and leaned back into a more comfortable position. "It took a lot of work to get him into the right state of mind. You've probably already figured out that he hasn't disappeared on his own, haven't you?"

She had. There was a time, when she was considering such an option, but it was only a brief moment. Kylian Bouchard was an honourable man, who would never simply leave his family. Clarisse believed that he was dead, because it was the only plausible explanation she could come up with. Never had she thought about... well, _this_. It seemed more like a terrible nightmare, like a fucked-up vision, rather than reality. Apparently, life could be completely unreal too.

"You've kidnapped him."

"Yes. I must say, you're all very predictable. All it takes, to get you to cooperate, is to threaten your family. Your father loved you and Genie very much. You should probably know that, before you die."

Clarisse felt tears streaming down her face, but she could do nothing to stop them. She promised that he wouldn't _break her_ , but his words cut deeper than any knife could. He knew exactly where to hit her, to cause pain, and she began to realise that she _really_ wouldn't make it out of this basement in one piece. Even if she had somehow managed to escape, she would be scarred, more than she already was.

"You're not going to kill me, until you tell me everything," she said quietly and clenched her fists. "It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

He clicked his tongue in response, looking slightly disappointed.

"My, my... I honestly thought that it would take much more, than talking about _feelings_ , to break the famous Clarisse Bouchard."

"I'm not broken. Not yet anyway. I'm just too smart for my own good. Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do to stop you."

"Yes. You should have listened to your mother, when she asked you to stay away from that case."

"My mother had a _hunch_. She has them every time I'm on a case," Clarisse snorted, feeling weirdly moved at the thought of her mother's awkwardness. She wished they could have fought less. All these harmful words that had come out of her mouth seemed irrelevant now. She'd much rather tell her that she loved her...

"This time was different, Clarie. You have to know that, if you're as smart as you claim to be. Genie couldn't be sure, of course, but I think she suspected, who's behind those crimes. She'd be a fool otherwise."

"Why?" Riss asked, frowning slightly. Even with the sense of absolute despair, she couldn't resist asking questions, as if she was conducting an investigation. The tears that kept streaming down her face, made everything a bit harder, but she wasn't going to quit. She had to have all the answers, before she could ready herself for the inevitable.

The man smiled and looked at something above her shoulder. His gaze became distant and unfocused, while he tried to think of the best way to tell his story. Clarisse shifted impatiently, but he remained silent for another minute.

"I've always considered myself destined to do great things. I was smarter than other kids, more developed than them. _Genius_ , one could call me. Of course, my peers hardly noticed my superiority, quite the opposite. To them, I was a _freak_ , a meaningless nerd. Everyone made fun of me. Everyone, except for your mother," he said and his smiled changed into a gentler one. "Genie always like me, because she's seen something special in me. She's told me on more than one occasion, that I'm going to be someone important. We grew up together, and I was becoming more and more fixated on the idea of fulfilling her prophecy. I wanted to rule the world with your mother by my side."

"I take it didn't go too well," she mocked, earning herself a cold glare.

"Not all of it. Your mother might have chosen Kylian, but _ruling the world_ is still in question, isn't it?" He smiled viciously, making shivers run up her spine. "I've decided that the only way to achieve my goal, is to search for the ancient knowledge. I wasn't near as powerful as Voldemort, and even he has been defeated. I had no intentions of letting my dreams burn to ashes. So I went on a journey. A journey, that gave me all the knowledge I needed."

Clarisse opened her mouth, when she realised what had he meant in the club. 'You could have owned the world, but you chose to stay with your _pathetic_ family,' he'd said back then, and she had no clue what it was all about. Now, things became as clear as day.

"You wanted my mother to come with you," she whispered and the man nodded, scowling.

"Yes. I _loved_ her, although I can't seem to recall _why_. Feelings are such a foreign concept to me, after all this time spent in solitude. You can probably understand."

She wanted to look away in a shameful gesture, but she forced herself to meet his cold gaze instead. Clarisse might have been a mean bitch, she might have hurt people, because she didn't care about anything. But she could never understand _him_. She wasn't a monster.

"Not really," she answered and shrugged. "I'd prefer if the world could just _fuck off_. I have no intentions of ruling over it."

"The world is flawed." His immediate response was harsh and stern, and Clarisse knew that he might have been a psycho, but he believed in his views, more than anything. "Especially the magical world. We've become lazy and arrogant, letting our magic do everything for us. We've stopped developing, satisfying ourselves with what he have now. Our society is primitive and much less advanced, than the one from the ancient times. The Alchemists could do things that we can only dream of. Our magic is weak and frail, while theirs was _explosive_ and _exciting_. Wouldn't you rather live in a world, where people are ambitious? A world that would turn us into _legends_ for the generations to come?"

Oh, so he was an _idealist._ For fuck's sake, why did every villain had to cloak his evil intents in some bullshit visions of the _new world_? Why couldn't they just admit, that they wanted to see the world burn, with thousands innocent people along it?

"And you think that you can achieve all that? Wow, let's talk about being naïve," she snorted and shook her head. "We may not be as powerful as the Alchemists, but we're also not as _savage_ and _barbaric_. Those times, according to the known sources, were a gigantic bloodshed."

"That's the only way to start a revolution."

"That's also the only way to become a mass murderer," she pointed out and the man got up abruptly, making his chair fall over.

"If that's what it takes to change the world, I'm willing to do this!" he yelled and took out his wand, pointing it at her. "You're just as blind as your mother! If you cannot see my brilliance, I'll make sure that you cannot see _anything_."

"Wait!" she said, trying to calm her racing heart. She did not want to die in general, but a rational part of her told her that he still hadn't finished his story. She still had questions that needed to be answered. "You haven't explained everything. Please, I have to know."

Slowly, he lowered his wand, letting a smile appear on his face.

"So you're not as ignorant as I thought," he muttered and sighed. "Makes me think that maybe you could be useful. Maybe I could treat you the same way I've treated your father."

"Whatever you've done to him... I'd rather die," she said and scowled. "The thought of helping you, makes me sick to my stomach."

The man lifted his chair from the ground and sat down again, looking at Clarisse with a mixture of resentment and amusement.

"You're definitely Kylian's daughter. So loyal, so... _good_. Yes, the resemblance is striking. It makes it even more entertaining to break you and watch you do the things you despise the most. Do you want to know what I've done to him?"

She wanted to say no, but no words left her mouth. Because even the worst pain couldn't stop her desperate need to finally _understand_. So she stayed silent, and watched the man's smile grow wider, and wider.

"I've Obliviated him. I took memories of his family, of his feelings, and replaced them with need, similar to the one that drives me. I've created a version of myself, one that is incapable of feeling, one that is willing to take the blame for my crimes." Clarisse's vision became blurred, when tears started to fall from her eyes once again. She tried to do everything, not to sob in despair, but every word coming out of that vile man's mouth made it harder, and harder. "He committed all those crimes, even if he wasn't the one to orchestrate them. How brilliant is that?"

"Brilliant?" she choked out and shook her head. "It's the most barbaric thing I've ever heard of. Only a very sick mind could do something like that."

"Being _sick_ doesn't exclude the possibility of being brilliant. You have to admit that... Those murders were _perfect_ in every sense."

She clenched her teeth, wishing that she had never thought that about them. If they'd been anything less than _perfect_ , she would have caught him a long time ago. Her team would have helped with that.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realised that she would never see them again either. She would never be scolded by Deschamps, she would never make fun of Fabre, she would never see Jacques smile, and she would never... Oh, Merlin. She would never see Finley again.

"Do you know why I've kidnapped you?" he asked, completely oblivious to the flood of feelings in her body. "You... I mean, your mother, was supposed to be my _last stand_. You see... There is a way to retrieve the power from those creatures. And I need a very powerful Oracle to do it."

"You mean, kill them?"

"No. I mean bind their power. I'll be doing the killing. The only murder I intend to commit." He smiled mockingly. "There's a ritual that allows to harness their power, just a second after they've been killed. The Oracle has to harness it and then transfer it to another person."

"But how will you kill them? Aren't they like Dementors?"

"They are creatures that don't have a constant form, which is why you couldn't see them in the club with your father. They become visible only when they _feed_. That is also that one moment, when you can defeat them, just as if they were normal people."

"So you're planning _another_ murder?" Clarisse asked with disbelief and the man clicked his tongue.

"No, Clarie. The rituals were necessary in order to create those creatures. Now that they're here, all they need is a one small wound. Why do you think your father is still alive?"

"You want them to kill him, while my mother is watching?" she whispered and felt a bile rise in her throat. She felt _sick_. In fact, she wasn't sure if she could stop herself from vomiting. Not when he clearly wanted to answer her question.

"Yes. Ironic, isn't it? The final proof that love doesn't conquer _all_."

He was crazy. Crazy and completely fucked up. Clarisse wanted to scream in rage, to tear his face off, just so she wouldn't have to keep staring at his nauseating smile. But she couldn't. All she could do, was to stare at the man in front of her, feeling utterly hopeless and defeated.

"Of course, now that I have captured _you_ , instead of your mother, things won't be as meaningful." He frowned. "You see, I've forgot to mention. You simply cannot harness that much power, without consequences. The pain of it is... excruciating. Or at least, so I've heard. Your mother would have undoubtedly died doing that. She had never been the one to withstand a great deal of suffering. She was supposed to die, along with your father. Like Romeo and Juliet," he laughed for a moment, but then his expression changed back to stone-cold. "You may actually live through it, but there's an easy way to fix that."

He stood up again, raising his wand at her, and she knew that she ran out of questions. Clarisse couldn't think of anything worth asking, except for one thing.

"If you gain all that power, won't the creatures appear again?"

"They will," he admitted, but didn't stop smiling. "It won't matter, though. It will take months, or maybe even years for them to suck it out. Like I said, they may follow me around, but until I've suffered from any wounds, they cannot take it away."

She swallowed hard and looked at the tip of his wand. He clearly had no intentions of killing her now, so she guessed he had to transport her to a different place. This time, he wasn't going to make that same mistake of leaving her conscious.

"I'm not going to do it," she said, just to buy more time. Clarisse doubted that someone was coming to rescue her, since no one actually knew where she went, but she had to _hope_. Maybe, just maybe... Maybe just this once, she could be lucky. "I'm not going to help you."

"Do you want me to kill your mother? Or better, have Kylian do it?" he asked her in response, and Clarisse had already known the answer to that question. "Oh, and there's always that British Auror you seem to fancy."

"He's Irish, you moron," she protested pointlessly, and the man chuckled.

"Yeah, that one. You probably wouldn't want me to kill him, just because you weren't cooperating, huh?"

"He's going to find you and make you pay," she said with force, knowing that no matter how everything would end, she could be sure of that one thing. Aedan would never stop hunting him, just as the rest of their team.

"No, Clarie. No one is going to stop me."

At this exact moment, she heard another door creak and her heart performed a summersault, when she realised that her silent pleas must have been heard. The man spun around, pointing his wand at the staircase, where she had noticed a familiar man with his wand out as well. Before she could think this through, she launched herself at her captor, who was now standing with his back turned on her, and she knocked him down.

"Move!" Aedan yelled, before he had sent a Stunner in the man's direction, and she rolled out of the way with all the remaining strength.

Just like that, it was over. Clarisse wanted to laugh at the irony in the entire situation. A man, who wanted to _rule the world_ , got defeated by a simple Stunner. No sound escaped her throat though, as she struggled to blink the tears away, when relief washed over her entire body. She was alive. She was alive, because Aedan came to her rescue.

"You have a pretty mean Stunner," she choked out, when he kneeled down next to her with his hair dishevelled and pure worry painted all over his face.

"Clarie..." he breathed out and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position. He didn't let go, even after she sat up and steadied herself with her own palms. "Thank Merlin, you're alright."

"Kind of," she answered and shook her head. "Almost. I..."

"Shh..." he said and put a finger on her lips. "I've made it. It's over."

She looked at him, and for a moment, the entire world around them stopped. Something told her that nothing was over. They could have caught the killer, but somehow, it felt more like a beginning of something both exciting and foreign.

When he leaned down and kissed her, she had no doubts. She simply kissed him back, letting his familiar scent invade her senses, just like the feeling of his soft lips, brushing against her own. It wasn't wild, it wasn't filled with consuming lust, but Clarisse knew that it was _magical_. Those kisses she had shared before couldn't even come close to something as meaningful and emotional as kissing Aedan Finley.

She felt his fingers brush against her cheek, only to pull her even closer after a second, deepening the kiss and making it even more overwhelming. Clarisse wrapped her arms around his neck, letting herself forget about the pain and exhaustion of being held captive, because she was right where she wanted to be. That realisation was just as shocking and embarrassing, as it was thrilling.

She felt alive _._ And nothing else truly mattered.


	19. Chapter 19: The Family

"How did you find me?" Clarisse asked, glaring at the Mediwitch, who refused to leave her alone. Frankly speaking, she might have been _doing her job_ , but Riss wasn't going to let her. Not when there was so much to do and so many questions to answer.

She didn't even remember anything that happened after the kiss. Some people appeared in the basement, interrupting their _moment_ and demanding answers. She remembered watching them take away her captor's stunned, motionless body, but everything that had happened later... It was all a blur. The adrenaline stopped working and shock hit her like a tsunami, making it literally impossible to stop herself from shaking.

But now, after several hours had passed and she was finally allowed to see _anyone_ , she hardly needed medical attention. They would take better care of her, if they could just give her something to eat. She was bloody starving.

"Did you honestly think that your boss was going to leave you without supervision?" Aedan said with a smile and shook his head. "I thought that you were actually smart, don't disappoint me now."

A part of her wanted to smack him, but she was also glad that despite the kiss, he was still acting relatively normal. Of course, his touches lingered more than before, and the way he looked at her made her kind of wish she wasn't still in a hospital, but otherwise... He was still a prick. Her prick, no matter how dirty and pathetic it sounded. Oh, Merlin. She was turning into one of _those_ girls, wasn't she?

"Deschamps told me to watch you, since I'm not actually a part of the department. He wanted to do this discreetly, so we wouldn't jeopardise your position before the hearing. We wouldn't want people to think that you're so unstable that you need people to _watch over you_." Despite his gentle smile, Clarisse couldn't help, but to feel embarrassed. Well, she was unstable. She had gone off on her venture, completely _alone_ , after all.

"It's definitely a good thing that I decided to be predictable for once," she muttered and glared at the witch again. "Ouch. Can you, please, stop pricking me with that freaking needle?! I almost died! Don't you think I deserve some rest?!"

The witch looked slightly scared by her outburst, but Aedan sighed and smiled gently at her, letting her know that it was alright to leave for a moment. The woman escaped the room in a hurry, making Clarisse scowl. She probably should have been nicer.

"What took you so long to get there, if you have been trailing me?"

"He covered his tracks pretty well, Clarie. I knew that you went to the club, but it wasn't easy to keep an eye on you all night. Just as it wasn't easy to follow you later on, when that guy put you into his car."

"So how did you do it?"

"I put a Tracking Spell on the vehicle, but he had left the car couple of streets away. He was careful. It wasn't easy to find his house, and it wasn't easy to break through his wards."

"But you did it," she said with a smile and he nodded, raising his hand and caressing her cheek gently.

"Yeah, I did. Although I still want to kill you for being so reckless."

"I had a plan, Aedan." She rolled her eyes theatrically. "How could I know that the killer would turn out to be my mother's friend, huh? And that my father..." Her voice broke off, when she realised that she still hadn't explained anything to him. To anyone, for that matter. "I don't think I want to tell this story twice. Can you please get Deschamps in here?"

Aedan lowered his hand and nodded, leaving the room instantly. Clarisse watched his silhouette with a weird sensation in her stomach. She had never really let herself notice how handsome he truly was, but now it seemed pointless to omit that fact any longer. Her mother was right, when she had said that Aedan was her type. Tall and lean, with blond hair and a dazzling smile. Although his face was always clean shaven, he didn't look like a boy. His jawline could be envied by many men, just as those carved cheekbones. He was bloody handsome, but she was far from falling for someone, because of their meaningless exterior.

He was _not_ perfect. Actually, he was arrogant, chauvinistic and so full of himself that she wanted to slap his face. She could not stand his attitude sometimes, and his mocking comments made her blood boil with anger. But something about him... Something about him felt soothing. Maybe it was the fact that they were so similar in certain ways, and he was still a _good man_. Maybe he gave her hope that she could function in a relatively normal way. Or maybe... Maybe he didn't just _accept her_ , allowing her to believe instead that it was alright to be herself.

Whatever it was, she liked it. There was no denying that fact, just as there was no denying the fact the dynamics of their relationship had changed irrevocably. They were about to take a risk, and she was surprisingly okay with that.

* * *

"He only wants to speak with _you_. Says that no one else is going to get anything out of him," Deschamps said, looking at her cautiously. He would never admit that, but Clarisse knew he was worried sick about her.

"That's going to be difficult, isn't it? I'm still suspended," she noticed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at a man behind the charmed glass.

"It doesn't matter. Not now. Not when we don't even know his name," Deschamps said and shook his head with annoyance.

Clarisse bit her bottom lip, knowing that it would probably be wise to reach out to her mother, but she didn't feel ready to do so. She wasn't ready to face the woman, who sacrificed so much for her, to simply accuse her of withholding information significant to their investigation. Because that seemed to be the case, at least according to the man sitting inside of the interrogation room.

She hadn't told anyone about that part of their _talk_. She wanted to talk to Eugenia first, give her a chance to explain everything, before anyone came barging in, asking questions that would undoubtedly incriminate her. She wanted to, but something stopped her. Riss really didn't want to tell her mother that her little _prophecy_ had turned that man into a monster. She didn't want to tell her that her husband murdered innocent girls. Because Eugenia Bouchard, with all her flaws and weird quirks, didn't deserve to be hurt.

Clarisse sighed, knowing that she really had no choice.

"Fine, I'll go in. I don't think he's going to tell me anything useful, though."

"We have to find Kylian, Auror Bouchard. Our society is not safe, until he's dealt with."

She ignored shivers that ran up her spine. Deschamps' words were dry and emotionless, making their meaning pretty clear. Her father was a criminal now. Unless his memories could be restored, he was a killing machine, with a great power. Catching the _great master_ of this entire scheme couldn't be the end. Not in this case.

Clarisse nodded and entered the room without hesitation, even if her heart kept banging against her ribcage with a great force. She ignored the smile that appeared on the man's face, and sat down on the chair, opposite to him.

"What's your name?" she asked bluntly and he clicked his tongue, making her shift slightly. She bloody hated that sound.

"How are you, Clarie?"

"Great. What's your name?" she tried again, but he remained quiet. "You should know that telling us this, won't change a thing. You're still going to be charged."

"With kidnapping you, of course. But when it comes to the rest of your accusations..." He smiled and shrugged. "It's your word against mine."

"No one is going to believe you, after you've kidnapped me. My statement would be enough to put you away for life. Especially once we've found my father."

"But you haven't," he noticed and smiled viciously. "Until then, it's an open case, really."

Clarisse studied him for a moment, trying to keep her anger at bay. Hurting him was tempting, but it could mess up their entire investigation. She'd rather eat her own tongue, than let him walk away.

"What do you want?" she asked and he looked up towards the ceiling.

"Why haven't you talked to you mother, Clarie? I'm pretty sure she could provide you with answers."

"My mother is a civilian. Aside from giving us your name and early history, she's hardly going to be of any help," she stated dryly and leaned forward. "Where is my father?"

"You're asking the wrong question, Auror. Finding him is, after all, one thing. Restoring his memories, on the other hand, is a completely different case, isn't it?"

"You've just admitted to knowing that he was Obilviated. You might as well tell me where I can find him."

"Someone told me that he doesn't remember his own family. I mean, how tragic is that?" he said and smiled with sadness, making her clench her fists in fury.

"Pretty tragic. In fact, so tragic that I'm sure you cannot stand forcing his family to endure another second of that torment," she mocked and he laughed in response.

"I think I'm good."

Clarisse shook her head and stood up. Talking to him was completely pointless. For him, it was only a game, a form of entertainment. And she really didn't want to play along.

"Why did you want to talk to me, if you had no intentions of telling me anything?" she asked the final question, and suddenly, his smile was gone.

"You might be Kylian's daughter, but you're also Genie's. You remind me of her so much..."

"Go to hell," she spat and walked out of the room, knowing that the inevitable was finally here. She had to go to her mother. Because Eugenia Bouchard was probably the only person, who could break him.

* * *

Her mother looked sad and ashamed. Clarisse would lie, if she'd said that she'd ever seen that expression before, because Eugenia rarely felt the need to criticise herself. This time, it was clear as day that she wasn't proud of her own actions, and that made Clarisse feel really angry.

"Why didn't you tell me, mom? Why didn't you tell _anyone_?"

"What was I supposed to say, pumpkin?" her mother asked quietly and sighed. "That I once had a friend, who was completely fixated on the idea of ruling the world? I've never had the certainty..."

"That's because we never have the certainty! Not until that very last moment, not until we get a confession out of the criminal's mouth!" Clarisse said and rubbed her forehead. "You believe in your hunches, mom. Every single time. You've even warned me about this case!"

"It doesn't mean that I want my hunches to become reality... I'm sorry, sweetheart. I made a mistake and you could have died because of it." Her mother's lip quivered slightly, and Clarisse's anger evaporated.

"Just... Just tell me everything. It's not too late to fix things."

Eugenia nodded lightly and started to fidget with her fingers. She didn't look like the confident, elegant woman she usually was. Actually, she looked broken, and Clarisse hated it to the core. She wished that all of this could just end, that they both could move on and find a new balance in their lives. They were so close to having that... So close, that they needed to be find the strength to hold on, just a bit longer.

"His name is Bernard. Bernard Dumont. We've been friends since our early childhood. Other kids didn't like him, but I always thought it was unfair to exclude him, just because of his weirdness. He was quite likeable, when one went through all the effort to get to know him."

"What about that prophecy? He said that you..."

"I lied to him," her mother said, before she could have finished. "I was just a little girl and I wanted him to become a good person. I hoped that if I convinced him that his future was bright, it would push him to do some great things for the world. And I obviously don't mean his current _idea_. It never occurred to me that he had this darkness inside of him... Not until it was too late."

"He wanted you to go with him."

"Yes. Yes, he did, but I was already married to Kylian. We were a family, and I'd never leave you."

"So you let him go. Knowing what it could mean."

Her mother looked at her guiltily, and Clarisse couldn't help, but sigh. She couldn't stay mad at her mother, for acting like a young, naïve girl. She _was_ a young, naïve girl back then.

"I had no idea about any of this. The ancient magic, the Alchemists... How could I know, Clarie?"

"You couldn't. No one could," she said in response and bit her lip for a moment. "Mom... I haven't told you this before, but... That Bernard is only partially guilty. He orchestrated everything, alright, but... He didn't kill those girls."

"Kylian did, didn't he?" she asked and glanced at her hands. "I had a feeling that it might have been him. After you've seen him in that club, everything started to fall into place. Bernard must have kidnapped him, out of spite, or maybe hoping that I would change my mind. It shows just how awkward he has always been. I've never thought about him much after that. Never had the time."

Clarisse fell silent for a moment, thinking about her mother's words. She was angry that Eugenia hadn't told her anything, but Bernard seemed to have become a distant memory by the time he decided to come back. Still, Riss really hoped that her mother could provide her with some more details.

"He's clearly sentimental," she muttered and frowned. "His plan was to kill both you and father, like...

"Romeo and Juliet," he mother said, nodding her head. "He always liked that play. Maybe because he was never able to truly understand the concept of love so great, that it was more important than life."

"Yeah, well, he's not the only one," Clarisse rolled her eyes. She hated that bloody play. _Obviously_. "Anyways, he said that I reminded him of you... All he does, seems to be meticulous and planned, but there is a strong connection to his past. _Your_ past. Maybe it's just a big puzzle? Maybe he wants me to find that last piece on my own?"

Eugenia fell silent for a moment, and then she gasped, covering her mouth with her palm.

"Right before he set off, he told me about this man... His new _friend_ , from Ireland."

Clarisse froze and her heart stopped for a second. It was impossible. Completely impossible.

"He specialised in the ancient times. He told Bernard about the ancient magic and the Alchemists."

"Let me guess... His name was Cillian," Clarisse muttered gravely, while her mother shot her a surprised look.

"How did you know that?"

"I've heard that name before. He's Aedan's father," she explained.

"Your boyfriend's father's name is Cillian?!" her mother exclaimed and let out a shaky breath. "What a coincidence, that your father..." She broke off and covered her eyes with her palm. "It's _not_ a coincidence. Bernard must have chosen him specifically, because of that similarity. He probably thought that it would be poetic, if someone with that exact same name was the source of his knowledge, leading him to the power he sought."

Great. Just splendid.

"He's planned all of this, hasn't he? Leaving breadcrumbs all over the place for you to pick up, but not enough to make you _sure_ of anything. I bet things were the same for Aedan's father. Merlin, how much I hate that fucking bastard..."

"Language, Clarisse!" her mother said and frowned.

"Seriously, mom?" Riss asked with disbelief, while her mother's expression softened.

"Sorry, pumpkin, it was an impulse. I hate that fucking bastard too."

* * *

"This is _not_ how I expected to meet your father," Clarisse muttered to Aedan, tugging at her robe's sleeve relentlessly.

To be honest, she couldn't really tell, who was more anxious about all of this. Her... um, _boyfriend_ looked like he was ready to pass out, which was kind of pathetic, considering he had no problems with breaking all the wards in Bernard's house, and rescuing her heroically. She had no intentions of mocking him, though, because his unusual behaviour only stressed her out.

"I've never expected you to meet my father. I sort of hoped to avoid that moment forever."

"Isn't it what people do, when they... you know." She cleared her throat and made a frantic gesture with her hand, managing to evoke the tiniest smile from Aedan.

"What are you, six?"

"Are you interested in children?" she talked back and he sent her a glare in response. "Then shut up. I suck at relationships. I probably suck at meeting parents too."

"It's for a case, Clarisse. We don't even have to _tell him_. Just act professional and everything is going to be fine."

She wished she could believe him, but, unfortunately, Finley sounded as though he was trying to convince mostly _himself_. Before she could accuse him of making her feel even worse, the door opened and Clarisse found herself face to face with Aedan's father.

She kind of expected him to look similar to her own dad, but she realised how stupid that was, as soon as she had laid her eyes upon Cillian Finley. Actually, she could pick up on all the similarities between him and his son _easily._ He was just as tall and lean as Aedan, and he had the same blond hair. His expression though... It was mildly terrifying –stern, and judgmental. Clarisse rarely felt intimidated by other people, but it was hard not to feel completely _dominated_ in the presence of that man.

"Auror Finley," she greeted him in the most professional tone she could possibly muster, and he looked at her cautiously. "I'm Auror Clarisse Bouchard, and I'm..."

"Fucking my son," he finished the sentence for her, making her so shocked that she couldn't find any words.

"Father!" Aedan yelled and rubbed his forehead. "Why do you always have to do that?!"

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"No! We're not _fucking_ , as you've wonderfully described it."

"Shame, she's a pretty gal. Definitely prettier than the previous ones." Cillian smiled mockingly and Clarisse decided that she wasn't going to let that slide. He could have been the Minister for Magic himself, but she wouldn't let _anyone_ talk to her that way.

"That's good to know, _sir_. Your approval has been high on my list of the things I couldn't care less for," she said and smiled sweetly. "Now, can we please get to business? Because I'd really like to get back to Paris, so I can _fuck your son_ in peace."

She couldn't tell which of the men had been more shocked by her statement. Both looked surprised, although she had a fair certainty that Aedan would very much like her to follow up on that _promise_. She smiled at him mockingly and then sat down at the table, crossing her legs casually.

"No objections? Splendid. Auror Finley, we've recently discovered that you've been in contact with a man, named Bernard Dumont. You've helped him with his research on the ancient times. Is that correct?"

Cillian didn't answer right away, studying her face cautiously. Clarisse was too agitated to feel threatened by his harsh gaze, so she simply stared back at him, putting her bitch face on. Judging by the tiniest smile, which had appeared on Cillian's lips, her tactics worked _perfectly_. Anyway, she wasn't going to admit that her anger got the better of her, _again_.

"You have balls. I like that, Auror Bouchard. It makes me believe that Aedan won't actually replace you with another gal."

Clarisse had a weird feeling that he was now _ordering_ Aedan, rather than anything else, but she wasn't going to share her thoughts on the matter. She had more important things to do.

"Yes, I know him. Not many people take interest in that topic, so I felt inclined to help him, despite my usual... demeanour." He probably meant being an utter prick, but she wasn't going to say that either. "I found our correspondence very stimulating. A brilliant mind, for sure. Did something happen to him? Is that why you're here?"

"Don't tell me you haven't recognised those rituals, father," Aedan said angrily, and Clarisse sighed. What happened to being professional? "You gave me that freaking book."

"I did. But I never gave it to Bernard," his father answered and Clarisse smiled.

"Ah, so you _do_ knowwhat this is all about," she noticed and watched Cillian scowl slightly. "Good, it makes things much easier. Auror Finley, we're not accusing you of anything. You couldn't have known that your research would lead to the creation of one of the most dangerous killers we've ever seen. You should know that Mr Dumont is currently in custody, but refuses to talk. He had an accomplice of sorts. More like a _puppet_ , to be honest." She flinched, thinking about her father in such a gruesome way, but it really seemed adequate.

"And what about him?"

"His name is Kylian Bouchard, he happens to be my father, and he is currently missing. Unfortunately, he had been the one to perform all those rituals, making him incredibly powerful and dangerous. Mr Dumont has hidden him, somewhere, and we would very much like to find that location."

"What makes you think I know that location?"

"Nothing, actually. Except for the fact, that Mr Dumont seems to have a peculiar sense of drama. It's not a coincidence that he chose my father. It's not a coincidence that he chose _you_ , someone bearing that exact same name. It would only be fitting if he had somehow told you about a secret location. It would be poetic, if _Cillian_ could be the only one able to save _Kylian_."

Aedan's father looked at her for a moment, appraising her cautiously. His gaze started to become more distant with every second, until she realised that he was probably searching his mind for a clue. Clarissed relaxed back into her chair, trying to refrain from anxious movements, or fidgeting too much. She also didn't want to look at Aedan. Showing any signs of _weakness_ in front of his father, didn't seem like a good idea.

Finally, after a couple of minutes of heavy silence, the man opened his mouth and said:

"He's talked about his family's other house. It was old, ancient even, at least to some people. He used to mention it in context of their arrogance, because they didn't care enough to learn about the history, about the actual timeline."

"Oh, yes. Seems like a place he might have used. Do you know where it is?"

"No. He's mentioned a lake few times, but other than that, I have nothing."

"Well, it's still better than what we've had until now," she said and stood up. Clarisse straightened her robe and glanced at Aedan, who tried to kill his father with an intense look. "Auror Finley, thank you for your cooperation. I'll leave you both to it. You seem to have a lot to talk about."

With that, she left the room, knowing that Aedan would probably be pissed at her. Well, she could live with that. Seeing his furious expression was totally worth it.

* * *

Finding the house had been _easy_. In comparison to everything they'd gone through, it was a child's play. Clarisse couldn't stop herself from fidgeting, as she watched a couple of Aurors walk into the house, with their wands raised in alarm. They had no idea what they would find inside, and they'd rather be safe than sorry. She wasn't allowed to enter, which drove her mad, but she was able to understand it, in a way. Predicting her reaction to seeing her father was simply impossible, and reliability was necessary in those kind of actions.

She hoped that they would walk out of the house unharmed, with her father at their side. They had orders to bring him in alive, but things could go very wrong. He could fight, or go completely crazy, turning this entire raid into a bloodshed. This entire situation was nerve-racking. Her palms were sweaty, her cheeks red from the pent-up anxiousness, and her heart raced at such speed that she briefly worried about having a heart attack.

Suddenly, it was all over, when her father walked out of the house, calm and unharmed. She wanted to cry, seeing his blank expression and knowing that his capability to feel was taken away from him. He looked like a wreck of a man, and she began to wonder if killing him would really be so vile, as she had previously thought. A man like Kylian Bouchard would rather die, than to live in an empty shell. She was sure of it. Because it was exactly what she feared the most as well –being a prisoner of her own body.

And she knew that her job was not done yet. Because she would do _anything_ to save him, whether it meant bringing back his memories and feelings, or killing him.

* * *

"You've said something about restoring my father's memories," she said, looking at Bernard.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation, making her frown.

"Is it possible?"

"Yes."

"Can I do it?"

Bernard laughed coldly and offered her a vicious smile, which told her that it wouldn't be that simple.

"No, I'm afraid that it has to be _me_. The only way to reverse it, would be to think about the exact opposite of the spell used to take the memories away."

Shit. So the only way to actually help her father and rebuild their family, was to make a deal with a criminal? A criminal, who was so dangerous, that they really kept him in a cell without any handles?

"I assume that you're not going to do it," she stated and, to her surprise, he shrugged.

"I've lost everything, Clarie. Why would I deny myself the pleasure of restoring your father's memories?"

Pleasure? What was he talking about?

"Explain," she ordered and watched his smiled change into a very satisfied one.

"It's simple, really. I can restore his memories and watch the guilt slowly kill him. He had murdered those girls, after all. He can be acquitted, but he will always remain the monster I've created. And the guilt, the remorse, the _pain_... Oh, to someone like Kylian Bouchard, it will be pure torment. It will weigh him down, day by day, eating up his soul, piece by piece, until there's nothing left," he finished and his smile grew wider. "So... Yes. I'd love to restore his memories, Clarisse. I'm _dying_ to do it."

She swallowed back her tears, although she wanted nothing more, but to just cry. Because that bloody man was _right_.

"We should do it, Clarie. He deserves to know, he deserves another chance," Eugenia said, barely holding back her tears.

They both looked at Kylian Bouchard through a charmed glass, trying to decide what to do. It was an impossible decision to make, and Clarisse realised that, in a way, Bernard Dumont had won. Because even if they had managed to catch a very dangerous psycho, her life was about to change drastically. All of the wounds that had already healed, were bleeding again.

It _hurt_. There was no better way to describe the way she felt. She'd never understood the tales of _broken heroes_ , treating them as a warning to all of those, who wanted to throw themselves into meaningless fights, without any care for their own well-being. Suddenly, she understood Harry Potter and his awkwardness. She understood why defeating Voldemort hadn't turned into an endless celebration. It was because there really was nothing to celebrate. Because of all the deaths and because of all the lost pieces of sanity.

"It's not going to fix things. It's not going to make our family _whole_ ," she whispered and clenched her fists.

"He doesn't deserve to live like a _shadow_ , Clarie. Even if he decided to leave, after this is over, I'd still rather watch him leave than exist in that pitiful form," her mother said and Clarisse knew she was right. It didn't make things easier, but they still needed to be done.

"I'll fetch Bernard," she said and left, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her heart.

An hour later, she watched Bernard restore her father's memories with a maniac laughter escaping his throat. She'd seen the pain on Kylian's face, as he became conscious. She followed every tear that had left his eyes, trailing them with her own gaze. She'd done all that, holding Aedan's hand, just to remind herself that she needed to stay strong, even if she felt broken and exhausted, even if it hurt to think about the future.

"Eugenia? Clarisse?" Her father's voice reached her ears, and she couldn't stop herself from sobbing.

In a blink of an eye, both she and her mother were on their knees, holding Kylian's hands and crying in his lap. Even with all the pain, Clarisse couldn't help, but to think that she'd dreamt of this moment for a very long time.

She couldn't stop herself from glancing at Bernard, who stopped laughing, watching them with growing anger and despair. And somehow, it was all she needed to believe again.


	20. Chapter 20: The Aftermath

"My boyfriend got a cat. You know, a tiny, cute, black kitten. Actually, it looks kind of like a demon. It's probably why it likes me more than Aedan. We _clicked_. I told Aedan that he should call it Avada, but for some reasons, he thinks it's a bad idea. I mean, imagine calling the cat through an open window. It would be so hilarious to watch people drop… well, _dead_ to the ground, completely freaked out."

She stopped talking for a moment, looking at the woman in front of her. She didn't look impressed with her story. Bummer.

"Is that what you really want to talk about? Your boyfriend's cat?"

"Um… Yeah. Why not? Cats are cute. Don't people love cute, fluffy animals?"

Obviously, most people _loved_ talking about that stuff. Why couldn't that woman act like a normal human being?

"Clarisse… Do you even know why you're here?"

Duh. People hardly went to "therapist's office" to party, did they?

"Obviously. It's a therapy, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is supposed to help you overcome your fears, to help you get better."

"So?"

"I'm afraid you're not going to get better, unless you start talking about your _feelings_."

Great. Why was everyone so hell bent on forcing her to talk about her past? It _sucked_. Thinking about it hurt. Wasn't it enough that she had to see the aftermath of everything that happened?

"How can talking about pain, anger and hatred make me feel better?"

"Is that what you feel?"

"Maybe. Sometimes. Don't we all?"

"We do. It's perfectly natural. But not all of us have been through something so terrible, as what happened to you."

Clarisse didn't answer. Instead, she just looked out of the window, scowling lightly. Merlin, she hated that bloody therapy thingy. Not that she didn't need it. She was a very messed up individual in general and all those things that happened… Well, they certainly didn't help. Or maybe they did? Now that she thought about it, she made a huge progress in those past few months.

"Some of us aren't prepared to deal with so much emotions. It's perfectly fine to be overwhelmed, to feel lost."

"If it's perfectly fine, why do I need therapy?" she mocked, looking at the woman, who clenched her teeth, clearly displeased with the lack of cooperation.

"What I meant, was that there's nothing wrong in feeling that way. It doesn't mean that staying in that state is _healthy_."

"And you think that talking about my feelings will help?"

"Yes. It's definitely a start."

Clarisse snorted in amusement and shifted and her chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. One could think that a _shrink_ will provide their patients with a better place to sit. Maybe it was part of an interrogation technique? They made patients so uncomfortable that they started to do anything to please their therapists, just to escape that freaking chair.

"I think it's bullshit," she stated and shrugged. "For some people, it might work, sure. But for me? Nah. You don't know me, doctor. I've spent most of my life pretending that I didn't have feelings. It turns out that I do. And you're right, it is overwhelming, confusing and terrifying at times. But the thing is… For the first time in forever, I feel like I'm actually normal, like I belong to the society in a way. So yeah, my life sucks majorly, but at least I don't have to deal with that on my own."

"So you don't have nightmares? You don't have anxiety, you're not afraid that something is going to happen…"

"I'm an Auror, for fuck's sake," she interrupted and shook her head. "It's my _job_ to put my ass on the line, so people like _you_ could feel safer. Of course I have anxiety and probably more fears than you can count. I've almost died, but it was hardly my first time in that position. It is also impossible to _not_ have nightmares, after seeing the things I've seen. I'd have to be a psychopath not to have them."

"So you don't think you have a problem?"

"I think I have multiple problems. I just don't think it's necessarily a bad thing to have them."

"Aren't you afraid that those problems will eventually overwhelm you? That you'll _snap_? Because that's what often happens to people, who claim to be _fine_. They try to convince themselves that everything they're going through is normal. But they feel a lot of pain, too much to handle."

"What are you saying?"

"That maybe… Just _maybe_ you're trying to bottle up those emotions, instead of letting them out. You think they're going to disappear on their own, instead of just acknowledging their existence."

Clarisse rolled her eyes and sighed tiredly. Hadn't she just said that she was feeling a lot of pain, anger and hatred?

"Look… It's really hard, okay?" She clenched her fists with anger. "That case… It was _hell_. A complicated, fucked up hell. My father turned out to be a murderer, even if he was basically forced to become one. My mother's _friend_ decided to become the next Voldemort. I hurt my best friend, because I was too blind to see his true feelings. I… I kind of fell for another guy. A lot of things have happened. If there's someone capable of bottling up those feelings, he's a bloody weirdo."

"Those things have changed your life… Are you okay with that?"

"What other choice do I have? I can't give up, only because it's hard," she snorted. "I'm a fighter, I always have been."

The therapist didn't answer, so Clarisse sighed and ruffled her hair.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say is… Even though some things _suck_ , I still feel grateful. Because I actually got a chance to fix my life, to find my balance. No matter how much it hurts to live, I appreciate the fact that I still can. Yeah, it hurts to watch my father's pain, but at least I know I _have_ a father. Sure, I've lost a friend, but it forced me to open my eyes and see what a bitch I was. I'm not going to let all those things drag me down. I'm going to turn them into a lesson."

For the first time, the therapist smiled and shifted on her chair.

"I've heard a lot of things about you, Clarisse. Those things were the main reason for my… caution. One of the biggest mistakes a therapist can make, is to clear someone, when they're not ready. And with someone, who's known for their…" The woman looked at Riss with a meaningful smile, making her roll her eyes. "…temper, it gets even harder. I'm glad that you proved me wrong. I'm glad that you're using your emotions to grow as a person."

"You make me sound like a mentally healthy person," Clarisse snorted. "I'm not. I'm messed up. I'm just on my way to get better."

"It certainly seems that way," the woman agreed and frowned slightly. "If I may ask… What made you change your way of thinking?"

Clarisse smiled and looked out the window again. The streets were weirdly peaceful, and she realised that it felt weirdly soothing.

"Not a what… A _who_."

"Your boyfriend?"

"Merlin, no. He's a prick and he's making me seriously unstable sometimes."

"Who then?"

"A colleague of mine. I treated him very poorly, but it was not enough to stop him, from looking at me like at a human being. He kind of made me realise that there's nothing wrong with having feelings. He said that it is all right to feel hurt, because it's the ultimate proof of being human."

"Sounds like a very smart guy."

"Yeah. Much smarter than me, anyway." She smiled and glanced at the therapist. "I'm still afraid sometimes. That people are going to think of me as of someone weak, just because I allow myself to smile more. I used to believe that my façade built out of mockery and fearlessness is the source of my strength. I pretended to be a badass, instead of just learning how to _be_ one."

"And what about now?"

"Now?" Clarisse chuckled and shrugged. "Now I'm naming my cat Avada, just because I think it's funny. It's been one hell of a journey, doctor. But I'm glad it happened. I always will be."


End file.
